The Unseen Chamber
The Portkey's sudden jolt faded, leaving Alex standing alone in the breathtaking solitude of Dumbledore's office. The Headmaster, still reeling from the confidential knowledge Alex possessed, had been true to his word.
Alex was given sanctuary in a cramped, rarely used side-chamber on the seventh floor, one cleverly disguised adjacent to the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy's disastrous attempts to teach trolls ballet. It was a space designed for secrecy, perfect for an agent who shouldn't exist.
The room smelled perpetually of old stone and the faint, sweet scent of silver polish from Dumbledore's instruments. The only sounds were the distant, muffled echoes of castle life and the high, unsettling ticking of the Headmaster's ancient clockwork devices filtering through the stone. This was to be Alex's cage, his laboratory, and his new, solitary world.
His life settled into a cycle of brutal, focused isolation. He saw no one but Dumbledore, once a week, for a "strategic briefing." These meetings were a masterful exercise in control. Alex would provide just enough terrifyingly accurate, minor predictions—a specific security breach at the Ministry, a hidden recruitment tactic used by scattered Death Eaters—to retain Dumbledore's trust, all while carefully withholding the information that mattered most.
"You must continue your research into the Dark Lord's final vulnerabilities, Alex," Dumbledore would often say, his eyes filled with a desperate gratitude that made Alex's internal disgust sharpen. The Headmaster saw a brilliant, haunted child fighting for the light. Alex was merely running a long con, using the old man's guilt and desperation as his primary fuel source.
The Restricted Library
The Restricted Section became Alex's true home. The heavy velvet ropes and the cold, unblinking eyes of Madam Pince's surveillance seemed insignificant barriers to the Muggle orphan who knew he was dealing with the most powerful wizard alive.
Under the pretense of mapping the "Dark Lord's vulnerability to archaic rituals," Alex devoured the forbidden texts. He cared nothing for counter-curses or defensive Transfiguration. His true purpose was to secure the knowledge for his rebirth. The smell of these books—a heavy, intoxicating mix of dry paper, dust, and something metallic and burnt—was the scent of his future.
He spent four years cross-referencing ancient, forbidden tomes. He needed to understand how to tear a soul from its shell, how to bind it to a new core, and how to permanently alter the physical vessel to house his immense, sociopathic will. The key texts became his scripture: Secrets of the Darkest Art, which he read only to confirm the exact counter-rituals he needed; Maledictus Anima, detailing the metaphysical transfer of sentience; and the terrifying The Flesh and Bone Refinement, a guide to extreme self-Transfiguration designed for practitioners willing to endure ultimate pain for ultimate physical control.
He realized the immense, complex ritual he needed was too volatile for a true wand. A true magical core would demand obedience; his Anchor Wand, the dead piece of ash Dumbledore had provided, was perfect. It was a blank slate, capable of channeling only the will and intent of the caster. For four years, every breath was training, every movement a calculated expression of control, teaching the small piece of wood to amplify the silent, non-verbal Arithmancy spells he was designing.
The Great Muggle Larceny (A Side Project)
By 1983, Alex was seventeen in mind and was tired of the financial restraints. He had a genius plan, but it required assets—enough wealth to buy his way into the world on a legendary footing, completely independent of Dumbledore.
He needed Muggle money to convert into wizarding gold, but he could not risk setting foot in the Muggle world again until his transformation was complete.
From his silent chamber, using the library's most arcane texts on Numerology and Charms of Influence, he devised a method. He was not a traditional computer hacker; he was a master of Magical Arithmancy.
He used the Anchor Wand to cast microscopic, non-verbal Charms of Subtraction and Siphoning Arrays that would travel outside the castle walls. These spells were designed to target the massive, chaotic, and predictable flow of electronic currency in London.
Five pence, he calculated. Five pence—a sum too small to trigger any audit flags, too insignificant for any individual Muggle to notice, but when siphoned off thirty million electronic transfers every single day, the total would grow exponentially. It was silent, automated, and irreversible.
Every night, while the castle slept, Alex would sit in his silent room, the Anchor Wand vibrating faintly in his hand, feeding his soul-shattering ritual design and his slow, methodical theft from the unsuspecting Muggle world. He was building his war chest, piece by tiny, undetectable piece, entirely in the shadow of the man who thought he was a consultant.
The Betrayal and the Prey
On November 1st, 1981, the tension that had choked the castle vanished. Voldemort was gone.
Dumbledore, utterly devastated by the loss of the Potters but clinging to the victory of the prophecy, burst into Alex's chamber. He expected congratulations; he received carefully calibrated panic.
"Gone? But... that wasn't supposed to happen this way," Alex stammered, his body language conveying shock and confusion, a perfect performance. "The prophecy was always hazy, Headmaster. By stopping now, Voldemort has done the one thing I couldn't predict. He has neutralized my best weapon, my foreknowledge of his next move."
Dumbledore, an old man weary of war, accepted the lie. Chaos was the Dark Lord's signature. Alex had successfully convinced Dumbledore that the sudden end had temporarily compromised his future knowledge, thereby preserving the entire arsenal of secrets for later use. Alex was safe. The war was officially over, and the path was clear for his true goal: Ascension.
He began remotely monitoring the students using the enchanted mirrors he had stolen from the abandoned divination classroom. He needed a body with a strong, pure core—a vessel that would not resist his soul's intrusion.
He found him among the fourth years (c. 1985). The boy's name was Finnegan Rourke. He was a pure-blood from an ancient, minor family, quiet, easily overlooked, and possessed of a stable, powerful core that practically hummed with latent magic. He was the perfect, pristine fuel source.
By the end of 1985, Alex, now nearly twenty years old mentally and nearing the completion of his Arithmancy money matrix, was ready to execute the murder that would finally kill the Muggle orphan and bring Phoenix Hellflame into existence.