I'm pacing when it happens.
Heart racing. Mind running worst-case simulations on a loop. Every outcome ends the same way: Harry Potter arrives, destiny flexes, and I stop existing.
Then—
something snaps into place.
A translucent pane of pale light unfolds in front of my eyes, hovering just above reality itself.
Not magic.
Not wizard magic.
Something cleaner. Colder. More absolute.
SYSTEM DETECTEDTransmigrator Survival Interface — ActivatedHost Compatibility: 98.7%Cognitive Capacity: Acceptable
I freeze.
Then I laugh—quiet, shaky, almost hysterical.
Of course.
Every transmigrator gets a golden finger.
Why would I be the exception?
The panic recedes just enough for analysis to kick in. Tom Riddle's mind—my mind now—latches onto the interface instantly. Pattern recognition, logic compression, eidetic recall. Within minutes I understand it.
This system doesn't guide.It waits.
Whenever my life reaches a critical branching point, it presents choices. Each option carries consequences—and rewards proportional to risk and deviation from fate.
And right now?
I'm standing at a narrative singularity.
The interface flickers.
DECISION EVENT DETECTEDWhat will you do next?
The options cascade downward, cold and merciless.
1. Continue as per original plot.Allow Harry Potter to stab you with a basilisk fang.Reward: DeathAdditional Reward: None
The option glows faintly, almost mockingly.
No.
Absolutely not.
2. Kill Harry Potter.Reward: Double magical talent.
I dismiss it instantly. Lily's sacrificial protection, destiny reinforcement, narrative inertia—killing the protagonist inside his own story is suicide wrapped in optimism.
And something deep in me recoils at the thought.
Tom never feared consequences.
I do.
3. Run away.Reward: Fully formed permanent body.
Tempting. Painfully tempting.
But Dumbledore doesn't lose pieces off the board. If I flee now, every ward, every Divination thread, every Order member will start hunting.
A body means nothing if I'm cornered within a week.
4. Trick Harry Potter.Reward: Baby basilisk.
I could do it. Manipulation comes as easily as breathing now. But the reward is laughably inadequate—and the moment I leave the Chamber, Dumbledore will dissect the situation until only ashes remain.
No margin for error.
5. Fully absorb Ginny Weasley's life force.Reward: Life-force absorption ability — increased lifespan and magical growth.
My gaze lingers here.
This is the point of no return.
Killing her would be loud, violent, karmically visible. It would carve a permanent stain into my soul—one that Dumbledore, Snape, and half the Department of Mysteries might eventually sense.
But the reward…
Longevity. Growth. Scalability.
Not immortality—but a path toward it.
6. Possess Ginny Weasley's body.Overwrite her consciousness completely.Reward: Knowledge of a perfected soul-transfer reincarnation technique.
Possession would let me hide in plain sight.
But taking over a living mind is unstable. Memories fight back. Identity fractures. And Ginny's family would never stop looking.
Risky.
Messy.
I exhale slowly.
I don't choose based on power.
I choose based on survival probability over time.
Option five is brutal—but clean.
Final.
And it gives me tools rather than temporary shelter.
"I choose option five," I whisper.
The system doesn't respond verbally.
It acts.
Information floods my mind—not raw data, but understanding. A refined soul-migration technique, optimized across countless iterations. Adapted instantly, automatically, into a form compatible with magic rather than chakra.
A spell, not a jutsu.
Elegant. Horrifying.
Before I move, I hiss a command in Parseltongue.
The basilisk stirs again.
Not toward me—never toward me—but toward the tunnel Harry is racing through. Stone shatters. The roar echoes through the Chamber.
Harry Potter will be busy.
I kneel beside Ginny Weasley.
Her breathing is shallow. Her soul already frayed from weeks of draining.
"I'm sorry," I say—and I mean it, even if Tom's part of me doesn't.
I press my palm to her chest and release the spell.
Her life force doesn't resist.
It unravels.
Warmth surges into me, intoxicating and terrifying. Magic condenses, reinforces, anchors. My body stabilizes completely—heartbeat steady, breath smooth, presence undeniable.
Ginny goes still.
I don't look at her face.
I don't need to.
The system hums once, satisfied.
Then I move.
The soul-transfer spell activates, pulling my consciousness free, sliding it into the newly stabilized vessel—her body—before the Chamber can register the change.
The world snaps back into focus.
Smaller frame. Red hair brushing my cheek. A pulse that isn't mine—but is now.
I collapse deliberately, letting the body go limp, breath shallow, eyes closed.
By the time Harry defeats the basilisk and comes running—
He won't find Tom Riddle.
He'll find a girl who looks like she barely survived.
And the world will never realize the truth.