How had Alexander ended up in this situation?
Before finding himself in this endless, colourless void - disoriented and completely alone - Alexander had led an ordinary life, complete with a job, a flat and a girlfriend he loved. He wondered how Anastasia was doing…
He remembered standing in the kitchen, cooking for the two of them. Anastasia always said she loved his food - maybe because she was terrible at cooking herself. Then he heard her calling from the living room, urgency in her tone.
"Alex, could you come real quick and take a look at this? It's important!"
He'd lowered the stove's flame, crossed to the door and then… nothing. A blank. As if something deep inside him refused to recall what came next.
Had he died? Or was he simply whisked away from one moment to the next? Perhaps an otherworldly being had intervened, like in one of those cliché Japanese isekai novels. He didn't know.
The rest of his memories, however, seemed intact.
Then, memories began to flood his mind, memories that weren't his own. Memories of a boy named Tom Riddle. Alexander found himself living through this boy's memories, from his earliest days at Wool's Orphanage to the age of eighteen, where he was performing the dark ritual of splitting his soul, embedding a piece of it into a diary - his first Horcrux. Alexander, having read the Harry Potter books, knew exactly who Tom Riddle was - or Voldemort, as he would later be known.
The void, combined with these memories ending at the Horcrux's creation, led Alexander to a stark realization: He had somehow replaced Tom Riddle's soul fragment within the diary. The memories embedded themselves as if they were his, pulling him deeper despite his resistance.
He relived Riddle's life at the orphanage, with its exorcisms and isolation, the revelation of magic from Dumbledore and his years at Hogwarts where fellow Slytherins derisively called him a Mudblood. He saw how Riddle exerted control over his environment and exacted revenge. Through these memories, Alexander also absorbed the magical knowledge Riddle had acquired during his first five years at Hogwarts.
However, Alexander detected an anomaly as he delved deeper into Tom Riddle's memories: Hogwarts began at thirteen, not eleven. This small discrepancy initially shook him. What would it mean for his meta-knowledge? Would Ginny still find the diary and if so, would it be during the Triwizard Tournament? Or worse, could this small difference ripple into larger changes, erasing everything he thought he knew? If Voldemort had won in this reality and become an immortal magical dictator, Alexander might be trapped in this void forever.
'I don't want to be stuck here forever!' he thought. 'How long has it been? Months? Years? Decades? I have no idea…'
"You should focus on your Occlumency training instead. You'll need it once you have a body," said the giant white rabbit floating in the void.
"As long as I know you're not real, everything's fine… right?"
"Obviously," the rabbit deadpanned. "As your psychiatrist, I can guarantee your sanity is perfectly intact."
Mastering high-level Occlumency gave him an eidetic memory, precisely what he required. He could now recall every detail from the Harry Potter lore he ever read online and cross-reference it with Riddle's memories. He discovered that all birthdates were shifted back two years - Tom Riddle, for instance, was born on December 31, 1924, not 1926. Yet, all other events, from Myrtle Warren's death to key historical moments, matched his book knowledge exactly.
This meant that in this world, everyone was simply two years older, but otherwise, the timeline remained consistent. This insight comforted him, confirming that a 13-year-old Ginny Weasley would still find the diary in 1992, keeping his meta-knowledge aligned.
The white rabbit morphed into a blood rune circle, hovering in the void. "What about this design?" it asked. "It incorporates elements from the Horcrux creation ritual to expel Ginny's soul and the Horcrux reversal ritual to anchor our soul to the new body."
"That still doesn't address the issue of the necessary soul energy. I need knowledge beyond what Riddle had…" Alexander thought (said?), employing Occlumency to dispel the persistent hallucination.
Though the illusions could be amusing at times, he was careful not to become emotionally reliant on them. The void wouldn't break him or drive him mad. Instead, he would use this time to master Occlumency and plan his escape.
The emptiness around him seemed to leer, waiting for him to crack. But that only fuelled his hatred and his resolve.
Alexander had decided early on that overtaking Ginny's body was the best course of action.
He had briefly considered a ritual similar to Voldemort's rebirth but quickly dismissed it - who would perform such dark magic for a mere diary? And even if they did, there was no guarantee the result would be a functional magical body.
Instead, he saw possession as his clearest path to freedom.
Possessing an adult was immediately dismissed. In adults soul, magic and body were tightly knit into one entity, making it virtually impossible to fully displace the original consciousness. He'd be stuck sharing the body, similar to Voldemort's situation with Quirrell.
However, with children, particularly those thirteen or younger, the bond was still forming. Their soul energy was not yet fully solidified, presenting an opportunity for Alexander to completely overtake their body by exploiting this developmental stage. No wonder Voldemort's initial step was possessing a baby in the forth book.
This analysis became the cornerstone of his escape plan. If events unfolded as he remembered, the diary would eventually fall into the hands of a suitable host: Ginny Weasley. With the perfect candidate and a viable method in place, Alexander's path forward was clear.
In the beginning, he had mixed feelings about possessing a young, innocent girl. Not because of Ginny's gender - compared to the difference between having a body and being trapped in this endless void, the distinction between man and woman was merely aesthetic. Alexander had never been particularly attached to being male. He could live as a girl if it meant escaping.
The real problem was his fleeting sense of morality. Taking Ginny's body meant killing a thirteen-year-old child. Alexander was pragmatic and logical, but that didn't mean he wanted to kill a child. Self-interest urged him to accept it, yet a part of him resisted.
But as days stretched into months and months into years, despair gnawed at his resolve. The unyielding void chipped away at the remnants of empathy he had left. The life of a girl he had never met began to feel distant and insignificant - just another obstacle between him and freedom.
Then, at last, the diary stirred, its pages rustling. Alexander felt it deep in his core when the ink first touched the parchment. This was it - the moment he had been waiting for. After so long, he would finally make contact with Ginny Weasley. Now, he had to do everything in his power to manipulate her.
But when spidery, trembling words appeared, his anticipation turned to confusion.
'Please take my body, my Lord.'
This wasn't Ginny Weasley… Who would willingly write in a Horcrux asking to be possessed? And why was the handwriting so shaky?
Then, three drops of blood splattered onto the page - offered willingly. Instinctively, he knew this act had forged a connection between their minds. Warily curious, yet slightly on edge, Alexander decided to seize the opportunity. Possessing the writer was instinctive. All he had to do was reach out.
Then, he found himself in a body - Caradoc Dearborn's, a pureblood member of the Order of the Phoenix. Knowledge about the man flooded his mind instantly, but there was no time to process it. The situation demanded his full attention.
Dearborn's body was caked in blood, kneeling before the diary. His right arm was gone, severed, and pain wracked every inch of him. His remaining hand trembled violently - an obvious aftereffect of prolonged exposure to the Cruciatus Curse.
Slowly, he lifted his gaze.
Voldemort sat before him, perched on a throne. His features were already twisted into the snake-like visage that marked his later years. From Dearborn's memories he knew that this was during the First Wizarding War. Alexander shoved every trace of his own identity behind Occlumency shields, bringing only Tom Riddle's memories to the surface. He could not afford a single mistake.
"Lord Voldemort," Alexander said, rising from his kneeling position, ignoring the tremble in his legs. His voice was steady, his posture composed, despite the searing pain coursing through Dearborn's mutilated body.
"From this one's surface memories, it seems Dumbledore is still a thorn in our plans," he continued, injecting as much venom as possible into the old man's name.
He had to stay in character - he was Tom Riddle and Voldemort's first Horcrux. If Voldemort sensed even the slightest inconsistency, there would be no second chances.
"I've already extracted everything of value from the blood traitor," Voldemort said smoothly. "Now, a choice must be made regarding your role in our conquest of Britain…" His crimson eyes lingered on Alexander, scrutinizing every reaction. But thanks to Occlumency, Alexander remained utterly composed, wearing only a mask of mild interest.
Voldemort was not the kind to offer real choices - even to his own Horcrux. This was a test.
"You have three options," Voldemort continued. "Rejoin the main body, possess a new one to lead some of my followers or be placed with a loyal servant who will eventually smuggle you into Hogwarts to undermine its false sense of security while I deal with blood traitors beyond its walls."
The diary was the only Horcrux capable of independent thought and action - the only one that could, in theory, become a threat to the main soul. Alexander suspected this was precisely what Voldemort feared.
"If the main soul has become unstable, reabsorption would be the most logical course of action," Alexander mused. "I lack the necessary knowledge of our current operations to say where I'd be most effective."
Should he reveal that he saw through Voldemort's intentions? Maybe it would be more perilous to conceal it? Fuck it...
"But there's no need to test me like this. I am you and you are me. We are Voldemort. My existence ensures your immortality, enabling you to shatter those who oppose us. Others might betray you, but I cannot, for I am part of you." Alexander spoke with an attempt at Voldemort's blend of arrogance and madness, all under a veneer of calm civility.
Voldemort, momentarily taken aback, threw his head back and let out a shrill laugh.
"Indeed, I'd forgotten the pleasure of conversing with someone of equal intellect... You shall go to Lucius Malfoy. When the time is right, you will open the Chamber of Secrets, undermining Dumbledore's authority within Hogwarts, serving as a diversion for my external plans." Voldemort peered down at Alexander from his throne.
"Now, begone. Avada Kedavra." He cast the Killing Curse at Alexander, who swiftly severed the connection to Dearborn's body just before the green light struck.
What a charming individual, Alexander thought. But it appeared he had passed the test. Now, he faced a wait of just over a decade to claim the body he desired. His thoughts were interrupted by a singing white rabbit:
One pill makes you larger, and one pill makes you small
And the ones that mother gives you, don't do anything at all
Go ask Alice, when she's ten feet tall
And if you go chasing rabbits, and you know you're going to fall
Tell 'em a hookah-smoking caterpillar has given you the call
And call Alice, when she was just small…
Alexander grimaced, banishing the illusion with Occlumency. "Not now," he muttered, but the rabbit's grin lingered, a mocking spectre in the emptiness.
oOoOo
The dragon opened its massive, tooth-filled maw and Ginny's heart pounded as she took in the sheer size and menace of the creature before her. Its yellow eyes glinted with fury, a silent promise of destruction. Why had she entered the Triwizard Tournament again?
With a rumbling growl that shook the ground, the dragon inhaled, its chest expanding, and then it unleashed a torrent of fire. The flames roared toward her. She felt the heat on her skin and Ginny's shield flared to life just in time, deflecting the blaze in a wide arc around her.
The crowd gasped, but Ginny's gaze didn't waver.
She pointed her wand at the ground below the creature and from the earth itself, thick chains rose, twisting like iron serpents toward the dragon. They shot up, wrapping around its limbs, binding its neck, wings and tail. The dragon roared, thrashing against the bindings, but the enchanted chains held fast, tightening around its neck and clamping its jaws shut just as it tried to breathe another round of fire.
Ginny's lips curved into a slight smile as she held her wand steady, watching as the beast's fury turned to helplessness. The power coursing through her was exhilarating, intoxicating. She moved forward with calm, graceful steps, walking past the bound creature to the dragon's hoard, where the golden egg lay.
The dragon's eyes followed her every move, but its struggle was useless, bound as it was.
The crowd erupted into a thunderous cheer, chanting her name, their voices merging into a wave of admiration and awe. Ginny felt a rush of pride and joy, her heart pounding with a wild thrill.
She reached down, lifted the golden egg in her hand, and turned toward the edge of the field.
Standing there, waiting patiently at the corner of the field, was Harry. He watched her with a proud and loving expression, his green eyes fixed on her.
Without hesitation, Ginny ran up to him, unable to contain her excitement. She threw her arms around him, feeling the warmth of his embrace, and looked up into his face, her heart pounding with joy.
"I did it, Harry!" she said breathlessly. "I love you."
But he only looked down at her blankly, as if he'd never seen her before. He stepped back, his eyes dark with confusion. "Who are you?" he asked, his voice cold and distant. "You're not Ginny…"
Harry and the crowd dissolved into nothingness, the vibrant scene unravelling like mist under a rising sun.
Then Alexander jolted awake - or at least, he believed he did. In this featureless abyss, the boundaries between sleep and waking were meaningless. There was only the crushing monotony of awareness. This wasn't his first encounter with such vivid dreamlike hallucinations.
These dreams, raw and painfully real, vanished as quickly as they came, leaving him reeling in their absence. The fleeting moments of escape felt like cruel jokes, each one sharpening the despair of returning to his hollow existence.
He longed for the adoration of the crowd, the magic that transformed him into a figure of awe and beauty. That dream of power and grace, where he was celebrated, now haunted him as it faded, leaving a void. He yearned for the freedom and thrill of embodying that image, now obsessively drawn to becoming her. But now, even that intoxicating echo was swallowed by the endless void, leaving only aching emptiness.
His initial pragmatic strategy of assuming Ginny's identity shifted as the isolation ate away at him, becoming part of his very identity. What had begun as a calculated means to an end - an escape plan, nothing more - slowly took root in his psyche. The thought of embodying a girl, once dismissed as a necessary inconvenience, began to transform, evolving into something more with every dream, imagination or thought of his future.
He envisioned himself in flowing dresses, twirling before a mirror, or soaring high above the Quidditch pitch, hair whipping in the wind. Once impossible, these fantasies now felt tantalizingly close.
He still remembered the agony of possessing Dearborn's body - crippled, bloodied, his left arm missing, wracked with tremors from the Cruciatus Curse. A frail, broken thing. His future body would be nothing like that. It would be perfect.
A shift was taking place, so gradual he barely noticed it at first. Without realizing it, his rare moments of solace became inextricably tied to the fantasy of being a girl. As the line between reality and illusion blurred, the idea ceased to be mere escapism. It became something deeper, something vital - his longing for freedom entwining with a growing obsession of being Ginny.
And then, after what felt like an eternity of isolation, the moment of reckoning finally arrived. The diary stirred once more, but this time, it was the arrival he had anticipated.
'Diary of Ginny Weasley'
The declaration was like a thunderclap in the silence, an electrifying signal that the wheel of fate had begun to turn. This was the moment he had waited for - the promise of something real, something tangible. His escape.
He prepared to seize this opportunity, understanding that this was his one true chance to break free and step into the world once more.
Drawing upon the power of his thoughts, Alexander projected his response onto the empty page. He chose the name written on the front page of the diary, a name that would establish the connection he needed:
'Hello Ginny. My name is Tom. It is nice to meet you.'