The moment came swiftly and without resistance. Ginny's body relaxed as her consciousness faded, slipping into a state of deep slumber. For Alexander, it was as if a door had been thrown open, the stifling constraints of the diary giving way to the rich, vibrant sensations of the physical world. A shiver coursed through him, not only from the act of possession but from the realization of what it meant: He was free from the diary, at least for now. This body, warm and alive, was his to command.
He marvelled at how easy it had been. Ginny's mind, so open and unguarded, had accepted his subtle influence without question. A few carefully placed whispers, disguised as her own thoughts and she'd scurried to this very spot, the fear of facing Harper and his friends driving her forward. He'd even convinced her subconsciously to sit down and close her eyes, ensuring she wouldn't question the missing memories later. When she woke, she would believe she had simply drifted off, exhausted and overwhelmed. 'Naive little girl,' he thought, a flicker of satisfaction coursing through him. Her innocence had made this all the simpler.
He took a steadying breath - or rather, Ginny's body did - and opened her eyes. The drab bathroom came into view, but Alexander barely registered it.
For decades, his existence had been confined to the void, save for the brief, wretched possession of Dearborn's broken, pain-wracked body - a fleeting experience that paled in comparison. Now, every nerve and muscle thrummed with life. The sensation was overwhelming: The gentle rustle of her robes against her skin, the cool dampness of the tiles beneath her, the faint musty whiff of mildew - all of it vibrantly real.
He slowly lifted Ginny's hand, marvelling as her delicate fingers responded to his will. The softness of her skin captivated him. He could trace every ridge of her fingerprints. Her slender wrist held a quiet grace, muscles shifting subtly underneath. His - or her - heart pounded, reminding him he was alive.
The rational part of him broke through the haze of elation. There was no guarantee of uninterrupted time here. He needed to secure his privacy first. Standing up, he felt the lightness of her body, the smooth coordination of her movements. It was exhilarating, but he forced himself to focus. With a swish of her wand, the bathroom door locked, the faint sound of the latch clicking echoing in the tiled space. Another motion and a ward shimmered briefly around the room. No ghostly interruptions, no curious well-meaning house-elves.
With those precautions in place, he allowed himself a moment to revel in the sensations. He turned her hand over, marvelling at the play of light across the smooth skin. He ran her fingers through her hair, the soft strands sliding through his grasp. Even standing felt miraculous - the strength in her legs, the balance, the effortless grace. He took a step, then another, testing the feel of movement.
The urge to move, to feel, surged within him. He took a step back, lifting her arms above her head and spinning in a slow, graceful twirl. The hem of her robes flared around her legs, the movement as fluid and effortless as water. Laughter bubbled up from her lips, unbidden and unrestrained. It was a sound he hadn't made in almost five decades, bright and genuine, untainted by the despair and bitterness of his imprisonment.
Alexander stopped spinning.
His gaze locked onto the mirror as though the world had narrowed to this single, extraordinary moment. The bathroom's dim light cast soft shadows across Ginny's face - his face. For years, he had imagined what this moment would be like and yet the reality of it was overwhelming in a way that no fantasy could have prepared him for. The reflection staring back at him wasn't just Ginny Weasley. It was him. This body, this face - it was his now and the weight of that realization left him momentarily breathless.
As he stood there, staring at the reflection, an unexpected wave of emotion crashed over him. The perfection of this body - the soft curves, the delicate lines of the face, the effortless grace in every movement - felt profoundly right, as if he were seeing himself for the first time. It resonated with him in a way he hadn't fully anticipated, a deep and abiding sense of alignment between his soul and the body he now inhabited. It wasn't just about escaping the diary or gaining a body. For the first time in decades, Alexander felt whole.
Alexander sank to his knees on the cold, tiled floor of the bathroom, the weight of the moment crashing down on him. The euphoria that had propelled him moments ago gave way to an overwhelming torrent of emotion. Decades of longing, isolation and despair surged to the surface, too powerful to contain. Tears welled in her - his - eyes and spilled freely down her cheeks, but they were not tears of sadness. They were tears of catharsis - of a soul finally breaking free from the prison that had held it captive for so long.
A sob wracked his frame. He pressed a trembling hand to her chest again, as if to anchor himself to this newfound reality. "I'm here," he whispered, her voice trembling with raw emotion. "I'm finally here."
The tears continued to flow as Alexander allowed himself a moment of vulnerability. The years of imprisonment in the diary, the unrelenting void, the countless fantasies that had once seemed so far out of reach - they all seemed to melt away, replaced by a profound sense of fulfilment.
"Congratulations, Alexander, I'm so thrilled for you," a familiar voice echoed through the bathroom, dousing his exhilaration like a bucket of cold water.
"Shut up," he snapped, hurling a Blasting Curse at the mirror where he glimpsed a white rabbit for a fleeting moment.
"But remember, it's not your body yet," the voice taunted, crackling with amusement from a different mirror. "You're just possessing it, like Dearborn's."
Using Occlumency, he steadied himself, banishing the illusion from his mind and calming his emotions. After a deep breath, he casually flicked his wand to repair the shattered mirror.
Why did this irritating hallucination persist? He had hoped that escaping the void's sensory deprivation would end these nagging visions. They'd fade eventually, he reasoned, and until then, Occlumency would suffice.
Alexander stood up and adjusted Ginny's posture, smoothing her hair with care. He remembered his plans for today.
The Chamber of Secrets awaited him.
His gaze fixed on the sink with the ornate serpent carving. He had seen it before in Tom Riddle's memories, piecing together fragments of knowledge about the Chamber of Secrets. The sink was the entrance, no doubt. Yet knowing and unlocking it were two entirely different things.
For a long time, Alexander had speculated that Riddle's magic had connected to his soul during his entrapment in the diary. If this was true, then he should also possess Parseltongue - an ability tied to Slytherin's family magic rather than bloodline. It wasn't just an inheritance of knowledge but a direct connection to the magic that Riddle, and through him Salazar Slytherin, had wielded.
He approached the sink, excitement and trepidation bubbling beneath his cold rationality. This wasn't merely about opening the Chamber - this was an important test. Without Parseltongue, his plans would become more difficult. Without access, he would be forced to find a less safe location, exposing himself and the ritual to risk.
Closing Ginny's eyes, Alexander concentrated. Tom's memories surged forward, guiding him to the sounds and structure of the language of snakes. It was unlike any human tongue - a strange, slithering sound. How Potter didn't realize he was speaking it was beyond him…
"Open."
The word came out as a soft, serpentine hiss. Ginny's body delivered it flawlessly, the sound alien yet thrilling. The serpent engraving reacted instantly. With a grinding rumble, the sink shifted and sank.
Alexander's breath caught in his chest as triumph surged through him. He had done it. Parseltongue flowed from him as naturally as if he'd been born with it. His hypothesis was proven: He had overtaken Riddle's magic from the original soul fragment in the diary - without magic he couldn't have learned Occlumency in the diary after all. With it came Slytherin's ancient family magic and its full implications.
His mind raced with possibilities. If Parseltongue, a core aspect of Slytherin's magic, was now his, then his connection to the basilisk was assured. The creature would obey him without hesitation.
The sink ground to a halt, leaving a dark, gaping tunnel in its wake. Alexander stared into it for a moment, his excitement tempered by the pragmatic need to assess what lay ahead. He stepped closer, Ginny's body trembling slightly as her fingers traced the edge of the opening. With a deep breath, he lowered himself into the slide and let gravity take over.
The descent was unlike anything Alexander had experienced. For years, his existence had been confined to the static void of the diary, void of motion or sensation. Now, the rush of air against Ginny's skin, the cold, damp smell of stone and earth and the stomach-churning twists of the slide were an intoxicating mix of the new and exciting.
He landed with a soft thud on the muddy ground, quickly catching his balance. Straightening Ginny's slight frame, he took a cautious step forward. The tunnel stretched ahead, a jagged path carved from stone, its walls dark and wet with condensation. Faint echoes of dripping water reached his ears, mixing with the earthy scent of centuries-old secrets.
Alexander's analytical mind catalogued every detail: The ancient stonework, the scattered remains of small animals, the slick patches of slime that coated the floor.
A broken rib cage here, a puddle of stagnant water there - he sidestepped them with an ease that belied Ginny's young body. Despite his cold and calculating nature, he couldn't entirely suppress the exhilaration bubbling beneath the surface.
This was an adventure, like in a fantasy novel - a forgotten passage to a hidden lair, guarded by ancient enchantments and a thousand-year-old monster in the final chamber. The air seemed to hum with the weight of history and for a fleeting moment, Alexander felt a spark of childlike wonder. He smirked. "An adventure," he muttered in Parseltongue, the words slithering off Ginny's tongue like silk. "Who would have thought I'd still feel something like this?"
Ahead, the tunnel opened into a vast chamber, its darkness swallowing the dim light from the entrance behind him. The air was heavy here, electric with dormant magic.
At the far end of the Chamber, a massive statue of Salazar Slytherin loomed, its stony features carved with an imposing grandeur. But Alexander's attention was drawn elsewhere. To the coiled form of the basilisk lying at its base, her emerald-scaled body glinting faintly in the low light. She was enormous, her presence radiating an aura of deadly power even in slumber.
Alexander paused, his grip tightening on Ginny's wand. The moment felt surreal - he was about to awaken one of the most dangerous creatures in existence.
He tilted Ginny's head downward, ensuring her eyes wouldn't meet the basilisk's gaze. Even though Slytherin's magic likely coursed through him, protecting him, he couldn't take chances - not until the ritual secured this body as truly his.
In Parseltongue, his voice steady and commanding, he hissed. "Awaken, ancient one! I command you."
The basilisk stirred. A low, resonant rumble echoed through the Chamber as her massive coils shifted, scales rasping against the stone. Slowly, her head rose, her enormous golden eyes glowing faintly in the gloom. Alexander averted his gaze but could feel the intensity of her presence like a physical force.
"Mistress," the basilisk hissed, her voice deep and melodious, tinged with curiosity. Her head tilted, the sharp angles of her jaw catching the light as she examined him. "It has been decades since I last felt the call of father's magic. The last was called Tom Riddle, if I remember correctly."
Alexander felt a shiver run through him at the title she gave him - mistress. He pushed down the thrill, keeping his tone measured. "I came here to make use of this place. The Chamber of Secrets will serve as the site for a powerful ritual in two months' time."
The basilisk tilted her head again, her massive eyes narrowing thoughtfully. "A ritual? Hmm... How intriguing. You plan to visit often, then little hatchling?"
"Yes," Alexander replied, "this Chamber is perfect - secluded and protected from the wards at Hogwarts. I will return frequently to prepare."
The basilisk's tongue flicked out, tasting the air. "Good. I have waited so long for someone to speak with, someone who carries the magic of my father. You will find me here, ready to aid you as needed."
Satisfied, Alexander gave a curt nod. He had what he needed: The Chamber, the basilisk's allegiance and confirmation of being a Parseltongue. The plans he had crafted in the void of the diary were no longer just dreams. They were unfolding before him, tangible and within reach.
oOoOo
Hermione rubbed her temples. 'Honestly… How could they fly a stolen car to Hogwarts? They could have died - or worse, been expelled," Hermione thought for the thousandth time, still fuming over the reckless way her best friends had arrived at Hogwarts.
'Think of something else, Hermione,' she thought to herself, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. 'Your schedule won't make itself.'
It was the end of the first day and Hermione sat alone in the empty common room. The flame in the fireplace crackled softly, casting flickering shadows across the worn armchairs and scarlet rugs. She was hunched over a parchment, meticulously crafting her study schedule for the year. After all, one had to allocate time for homework in each subject, plus extra hours in the library for research. Ideally, she'd tackle assignments right after class, but with the packed timetable, that wasn't always feasible.
She glanced at the class schedule Professor McGonagall had handed her that morning.
"Wednesday, third period… Potions," she murmured, tracing the line with her finger. "And after lunch, double History of Magic." She bit her lip. 'So, Potions homework in the evening - the next lesson is on Thursday - and History homework the next day, unless I finish Potions early. I need an Outstanding on everything this year, so better have enough time.'
Lost deep in thought, she barely registered the soft footsteps descending from the boys' dormitory stairs. Hermione turned, her quill pausing mid-air. It was Ginny. What on earth was she doing coming down from the boys' dormitory?
"Oh, hello, Hermione. I didn't expect anyone still awake," Ginny greeted her with a bright smile.
Something about this Ginny felt off. Hermione had only chatted with her briefly on the train to Hogwarts and in Diagon Alley while buying books, but now she seemed... different? More confident? Mature? It was subtle - the way she held herself straighter, her voice a touch smoother - but hard to pinpoint in the dying firelight.
"Ginny! What were you doing in the boys' dormitory? If Professor McGonagall saw you, you'd lose points on your very first day!" Hermione scolded, trying to keep her voice down. She couldn't let the younger girl pick up Ron's - or worse, Fred and George's - attitude toward rules.
"Don't worry, it's allowed for girls to visit the boys' dormitory. It's the other way around that's forbidden," Ginny replied smoothly, deflecting Hermione's concerns with ease.
Hermione hesitated. That was true… though she was fairly sure some curfew still applied. She made a mental note to check later.
"What were you doing up there, anyway?" she pressed, slipping automatically into the role of a responsible older student.
Ginny's smile sweetened further. "Just borrowing something from my brothers - a map of Hogwarts. You know how easy it is for first-years to get lost and they've already forgotten they had it anyway..."
Her smile looked almost perfect… almost. Something about it was hollow and her eyes caught the light in a way that made them seem oddly cold. Probably just a trick of the fire.
Hermione peered closer into Ginny's eyes and a sudden sharp headache bloomed behind her own, like pressure building in her skull.
Ginny's expression hardened in an instant, the facade cracking. "Children are annoyingly perceptive," she murmured in a cold, calculating tone that didn't belong to a thirteen-year-old. "I'll have to work on my facial expressions in the future, it seems."
"Ginny, what…" Hermione started, her heart pounding. But Ginny's wand was already out, pointed steadily at her.
"Obliviate."
Hermione blinked… her head heavy. The fire had burned low, casting the common room in dull orange light.
Had she… fallen asleep?
She sat up, rubbing her eyes. The room was empty, silent but for the faint crackle of dying embers. Her quill lay beside the parchment, a faint ink smudge on the corner of her nearly finished schedule.
She frowned.
'I must've nodded off,' she concluded.
Yawning, she gathered her things, the strange fog in her mind already fading into the background. Maybe she really should finish the schedule tomorrow.