Disclaimer: The characters don't belong to me, the spells don't belong to me, and they belong to JK Rowling, as you should know, but the plot belongs to me.

Prologue

Light. He could see light, well, he couldn't see, he was only a diary, but he could sense, and he sensed light, a very bright light. However, he could remember something as well, he remembered a boy with black hair like his own… Potter, his mind whispered conspiratorially, Potter stabbing his leather-bound diary with the venomous fang of his own Basilisk, in turn, he was, again, bound to the leather-bound diary. He could also remember the brutal force of getting the life sucked out of him harshly; death, if it could be called that in his terms, had been painful, especially since he had only lived for a couple of hours.

He was living – no, existing – again, somehow…. But, he soon realised, the strong, and powerful ancient magic of Hogwarts no longer surrounded him, because the magic he felt now was very different. It was much older, and much darker… it was familiar to him though, he was certain that his diary had been in the place before. Then he recollected gathering thick layers of dust at Malfoy Manor, before being placed into the hands of sweet, and innocent, little Ginevra Molly Weasley. He recalled being dusted down, anticipating what was going to happen. Anticipating what would happen if he were to be given to someone, whether it was the right person for his plans, the plans that had been set before he had placed a piece of himself into the diary. Anticipating gaining his body and causing darkness to fall upon the world, for the world to experience the darkness he had been left in for so, so long. That was how he felt now; anxious. Anxious to know what revived him from what seemed like an eternal slumber. Anxious to be free of the damn book!

And the waiting started, his patience remained, solely because he knew his time would come once more. He had waited fifty years for someone to open his diary, and place their wet quill to his dry parchment. Time was not a concept in the diary however; he didn't know when it was a Tuesday or a Saturday. A hundred years could have passed with him believing it to only have been a mere hour. But, during that time, he thought, and despised Harry Potter, a boy, just a boy compared to himself, that had destroyed him so easily. Tom soothed his own wounded ego by telling himself that he had not been at full power, or in full human form, and he was satisfied by this resolution. Until he remembered Ginevra Weasley….

Dear Tom

I tried that thing today; you know what you told me to do with Harry? He never even noticed, Tom. How will I ever get him to pay attention to me?

Ginevra, he's a twelve-year old boy, you have to understand that all he cares about right now is Quidditch, and broomsticks, which involves Quidditch. Anyway, you have me to look after you, so there is no need for a boyfriend is there? And, if he can't notice how pretty you are, then he doesn't deserve you.

How can you know if I'm pretty or not?

I can tell by your beautiful handwriting, Ginevra.

My handwriting's terrible, Tom, but it's sweet of you to say that. I wish you were my brother; at least you don't tease me, and make fun of my stupid crush on Harry.

Well, I don't want to hurt your feelings, Ginevra.

I wish you were here, Tom, then I could talk to you face-to-face. Writing seems so tiring for me now. Maybe it's because I stay up so late talking to you, but Percy is so annoying, he's like Mum, and he can always spot when I've stayed up too late or something. But, I don't care; I like talking to you so much, Tom.

They just don't respect you enough, Ginevra; they don't think you're old enough to stay up late. But, I do, my grown-up Ginevra.

I think you're right; they always treat me like a baby. Oh, I really wish I could talk to you properly now….

You can.

Really? How?

All you have to do is keep writing to me, Ginevra, the ink will make me stronger. Though, I don't want you to strain yourself, or else you'll be too exhausted to write to me anymore, and I would miss you very much.

Oh, you would? That's so cute, Tom, you're making me blush now! …. But, is there some complicated puzzle at the end of it all, or something?

No. Enchanting the diary was complicated enough, Ginevra, and it took me months, do you think I would have made it more complicated for me to get out of it?

I suppose not…. Tom?

Yes, Ginevra.

Why did you put yourself in there, anyway?

To preserve myself, so I could still live on for as long as this charm would allow. And, so I could still live on, even after my human self dies.

So, you're still alive, right now, in my time?

Perhaps.

Oh, Tom, that's wonderful! If I find him – you- whatever, then you'll be able to come out of there. He – you – might have forgotten about this diary. I'm going to look you up in the library, Tom; I'll be back soon.

No, Ginny, wait….

But, he had sensed the diary closing, and immediately began thinking up a million excuses to explain his future self: I'm innocent; I didn't know I was going to turn out like that. Ginevra, I can't bear it, I can't bear the thought of killing so many people. Yet, it seemed only a few minutes later, that the diary was opened again.

Tom, I can't find anything about your future self, but there are loads of records on you at Hogwarts; you got lots of awards, and you even became Head Boy. Isn't that great, Tom?

Head Boy? Well, I can't say I'm too surprised, I mean, I was always so brilliant.

Oh, you're so modest. But, I think you're right all the same, considering all these essays they kept of yours. I never knew you were so smart – well, I knew you were smart, you help me with my homework and everything, but I mean, you're really smart, maybe even more than Hermione, and that is really saying something. You know, you remind me of Percy a bit.

I'm laughing my socks off.

No need for sarcasm, you know.

Hmm, anything else to boost my ego even more?

No, sorry to disappoint you.

Dear Tom,

I saw Percy and Penelope, she's another Prefect, and they were kissing each other in an empty classroom! He caught me looking, and oh, it was so embarrassing, but now I can get him to stop telling Mum that I'm not sleeping enough.

How so?

Well, as you might have known, Mum likes to interfere, a lot, and if she knew… well, let's just say that I would be dressed as a bridesmaid faster than you can say 'I do'. Because, Percy is the proper one, so he has to be perfect all the time. So, obviously, he hasn't told her. But, now, he knows I can, and I won't have to take that stupid Pepperup Potion again.

How very Slytherin of you, Ginevra.

Is it?

A bit.

… Oh, I don't care, Percy's so horrid sometimes, and he knows Mum will always be on his side, just because he's a prefect, always does well in his tests, and doesn't have long hair. It's so unfair.

She just doesn't appreciate you as much as I do, Ginevra. She doesn't understand how special you are, like I do.

I wish all boys were like you, Tom….

Why is that?

Because you aren't stupid, and you understand. All the boys are know are either thick or blind, or both. It's so obvious that Hermione likes Ron, but he's so dumb, that he doesn't even notice. And Harry… he's so stupid.

I'm glad you think that way, because he does know that you like him, doesn't he, Ginevra? Yet he still ignores. I'd never ignore you….

I know, Tom…. Have you ever had a girlfriend?

Yes.

Did you kiss her?

Quite so.

Can I kiss you, Tom?

I'm not real, Ginny.

… You called me 'Ginny'…. I just meant your pages; can I kiss your pages?

I'm at your mercy, Ginevra.

………

Ginevra, your lips are so soft.

How do you know?

I can sense my surroundings, and I sense that your lips are soft, and pink. When you touch my pages, I can feel you in a way too.

I wish I could feel you properly, Tom. How much longer?

Soon, my sweet, soon….

A few months after that, he had taken her down to the Chamber of Secrets, and gave her the kiss of death. She angered him more than Harry Potter, when he thought about her now; she had struggled against him, fought him, even though she had promised to be loyal to him, and do whatever it took to bring him back to life. Of course, he never said that meant taking her life, but that wasn't the point.

A month passed without his knowledge, and he smirked to himself one day when he felt a presence in the room, more than just a his presence, but a few…. And his pages were opened, though it just seemed like they were flicking through it, seeing if there was any trace of anything whatsoever. Then, he soon became aware that he was being taken through various amounts of corridors and hallways. And he wondered, where was he being taken?

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That day, when Tom's diary was being taken through various amounts of corridors and hallways, it had only been because Lord Voldemort, who had been resurrected that past month with the help of some blood, flesh, and bone, had wondered about his Horcruxes, one in particular. He wondered about it, because it had been left in the hands of Abraxas Malfoy, a man with influence over the Ministry at the time, and it had seemed a good idea to leave it to him, but now he began to question his choice, even more so that now it was in Lucius Malfoy's possession. So, he summoned for it to be brought to him.

"Lucius," he hissed malignantly, "why, pray tell, is there an unsightly hole in my diary?"

"W-Well, my Lord," he stuttered, making an extravagant bow before his Masters' feet, "that question m-may take some t-time answering to…?"

"Oh, it will, will it?" he said disquietingly, causing Lucius to have to fight down the urge to shiver. "That is most unfortunate, for you, because I want an answer, NOW!"

"W-Well, at the time, my h-home was scheduled to b-be searched by the Ministry," Lucius said quickly, fearing Lord Voldemort's wrath if he didn't answer swiftly enough. "It was convenient to… give it to someone else…." He finished unsurely, he was dreading having to go to bed with a bad back from the pain of the Cruciatus, or not going to bed at all… surely that was worse.

"Convenient?" Voldemort questioned in a cold voice, his crimson-coloured eyes flashing chillingly. "So convenient that it has been destroyed, and rendered useless," now his long, spidery fingers were hovering dangerously over his newly polished wand.

Lucius' eyes widened as he noticed where Lord Voldemort's left hand was. "M-My Lord, it w-was more an attempt to restore you," he got to his knees, not minding his expensive robes catching any dust; he just didn't want to die over a hole in a book. "Potter foiled my plans."

"Potter," Voldemort spat bitterly. "That accursed brat…. However, Lucius," he continued, sneering viciously at his Death Eater, "this diary held more than my memory, you had no idea what power this book held! Yet you threw it out, merely because it inconvenienced you. You have effectively assisted our enemy in destroying me, you fool! CRUCIO!" he screamed, and it was so quick, Lucius had not even seen him raise his wand.

While Lucius was writhing on the floor, and screaming in the most undignified manner, Bellatrix Lestrange stepped forward with a very exalted expression upon her gaunt-looking face, as she smirked sadistically at her brother-in-law twitching on the ground. "Master," she said in a sickly sweet voice, though it sounded more like nails scratching along a blackboard, "may I suggest that it may still be functioning. Perhaps it can be restored…?"

Voldemort seemed to contemplate her suggestion, although it seemed impossible to him that it could still be working, especially with that poisonous smell wafting from it. Until he raised his wand, and muttered "Finite Incantatem", and Lucius' agonising screams were slowly replaced by his laboured breathing. "You better hope for your sake that she is right, Lucius." Again, he raised his wand, and Summoned a quill, and inkpot.

Meanwhile, Tom had been growing quite excited by this point; the magic crackling around him was enough, and he had even managed to absorb some remnants of it. Then, he was opened. Ink dribbled onto his pages; expensive black ink, and his excitement grew even more. The nib of the quill was pressed against his pages as if not knowing what to write. Tom frowned, and wrote impatiently Hello. The book snapped shut, and he smirked to himself again, this was the reaction he had gotten from Ginevra.

"Bella, you have not disappointed," Voldemort said spiritlessly. Bellatrix bowed, and kissed the hem of his robes with a smug smirk directed at Lucius, who was still on the floor. "Get up, Lucius!" he barked. "I have an idea…."

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Tom frowned; he had been… dreaming, but to dream, he had to sleep, and he hadn't truly slept in a long time; he never needed to sleep, he was an object, an object that held a spirit. "My Lord, I think he's waking up…" Tom sat up straight at the sound of a voice; he hadn't heard voices since that stint in the Chamber. And he certainly didn't have a view as a diary. The view he saw, really saw, was a richly furnished bedroom, he was occupying a large four-poster with dark-blue drapings, much else was in darkness, and he couldn't locate the source of the voice.

"Show yourself, this instant!" he demanded hoarsely.

"Is that really you, Master?" a scratchy, female voice whispered from the shadows. "I could just gobble him up!" it said excitedly.

"We all know, Bellatrix, that you would do something of the sort," a male voice sneered, the voice that had woken him up. "Unfortunately, you happen to be married."

"Silence!" a chilling voice from the shadows hissed, obviously irritated at the beginning of a bickering match.

"I said show yourself!" Tom repeated authoratively, "and I mean this instant." He almost recoiled as a hideous creature emerged from the shadows; a nasty, scaly thing with scarlet eyes, a thing that could have been human, once, long ago. "Who are you?" he demanded.

"I am… you," the grotesque thing replied in a simple voice, yet it seemed to have a literal serpentine voice.

"Ha!" Tom scoffed. "That's impossible; look at me, then look at you. I think it is highly implausible that you could have ever been me." Tom chuckled at the idea that this monster thought he could believe such rubbish.

"Ooh, Master," the female voice cooed from the shadows. "He's so arrogant… let me have him?"

Tom cocked an eyebrow at this very strange request. "Shut up, Bella," the thing hissed in an irate manner. "He's not interested in women!"

A snigger came from the shadows, and he presumed it was the other man present. "I demand to know who you really are, I don't like games," Tom muttered petulantly, his stare hard, and stony; it was the look he used to show when he was not messing around.

"Yes, I know," the thing said impatiently. "Let me see," it whispered deliberately, "ah… Hagrid. Rubeus Hagrid, who was expelled from Hogwarts, because of you, me, the reason why that diary was enchanted; I – you- framed him, since he was always fooling around with those creatures of his, it was so easy…" Tom glared as he realised it was speaking to him in Parseltongue; his mouth movements were not those of the English language. Then he began telling Tom about the day he murdered his Father, and Grandparents. Only he himself knew all the details of that pleasant day. All Tom did was remain silent, feeling indignant, and slightly repulsed, that this bony, unpleasant thing before him could only be his future self. After all, he did recall Ginevra telling him that she heard Lord Voldemort looked strange, but he never imagined that.

"That was a pleasant day, now, wasn't it?" the thing – Lord Voldemort- was smirking, knowing Tom would hate being proved wrong. "There is a reason why have decided that you will no longer be part of the diary; I want you to learn all that I have learned, and more, the Wizarding World will never be prepared," he added with a sudden pleasure in his demonic-looking eyes. "However, you will have to remain in this manor, unless I say otherwise, you must stay undetected by the outside world, or else those fools will discover my plans, now they are our plans." Voldemort was now dictating to his younger self, who was getting irked at being ordered by someone else, even if it was him. "Your annoyances will have to wait; there is no time for bothersome things like that. I have many other matters to attend to."

"I won't be commanded around by anyone," Tom said fiercely.

"Do you wish for power? Well, of course you do," Voldemort gave a lipless smirk. "Only my knowledge can help you achieve that, keeping you secret is merely a caution, if you're discovered these plans will be terminated, and ruined." His look was now blank, but still completely loathsome, and bone chilling. "They can hardly handle one Voldemort at full power, how do you think they'll handle two?"

And Tom smirked at this.

"Master, let me take care of him, he'll be safe with me…" the female voice, presumably Bella, spoke up again. She stepped out of the shadows next to Voldemort, looking pleadingly at her Master. Tom thought she looked like a Succubus, except something had made her weary, and very skeletal. Was everyone around here weird-looking?

"I'd forgotten how charming I used to be," Voldemort muttered, and he patted Bellatrix on the head. "No," answered firmly, a warning if she asked again, "he's not interested in women." Tom stepped off the bed then, examining his very real body, from his hands to his face; he knew he wasn't dreaming from his diary, he was so very real now….

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Time passed, and Tom's presence remained a secret as he studied in the vast Malfoy library, and there were more Dark Magic books than he could ever get his hands on at Hogwarts. Living in secrecy wasn't what he had had in mind when he was released from the diary, but he saw the benefits; he needed to study, learn, and practice, with the specially made wand that had been crafted just for him, before he could reach his elder self's standard of magic, and maybe some private teachings of his own could make him more powerful than Lord Voldemort, and still remain his handsome self. Of course, when he had inquired about Horcruxes all those years ago, he never knew what the physical effects would be.

But, now he knew that the Wizarding World wouldn't know what hit them when his training was complete, and it brought great pleasure to Tom knowing this little fact.

Then there was something he couldn't forget about, when he was not studying, and practising his magic; Ginevra. Her face was permanently imprinted in his mind. He couldn't stop thinking about how much he hated her for being a failure to him, to being resistant to him, and loyal to Potter, when she had pledged her loyalty to him. It made his anger burn deeply within him. But he searched and searched for a spell, a charm that would enable him to watch her, so that when his time as a secret was up, he would know exactly where to find her; he wouldn't kill her quickly either, he would torture her in the worst ways possible until he tired of her.

Then he found a spell, a complex one, which he had expected. And he always watched her thereafter in his spare time; watching dispassionately as she did her schoolwork, laughed with her friends, watched with an unexplainable amount of malcontentedness as she touched a boys' hand, or kissed a boy on the lips, it made him tighten his hands into a fist with a deep-rooted rage that he didn't understand. Tom hated not understanding things, so in turn, he hated her even more.

Sometimes she would cry, and the way her face drew sadness onto her mouth, onto her forehead, and into her eyes made him want to backhand her across the face, either that or chuckle at how it made him happy to see her sad. He watched her age too, as he aged with her, and when he was eighteen, she became sixteen; it made him realise one day, after a strenuous spell practice, that she had developed in more ways than one. Harry Potter had rid himself of this Ginevra, just the previous school year, and it delighted him, knowing that she didn't belong to his arch-nemesis any longer. Dumbledore's death had been a mere thing next to Ginny being hurt by her wonderful hero…. Tom hated, no, loathed him; one day he would get Potter by his scrawny neck and snap it with his bare hands, and he'd make Ginny watch, and he'd savour the screams she would scream, and never tire of the tears that would fall over her freckled cheeks.

But, soon, when Tom turned nineteen, and his knowledge was near completion in Voldemort's eyes, he suddenly expressed his wish that Tom do something more active, to strengthen his body as well as his mind, Tom's frustration at having less free time began to show.

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"Stand up straight!" Voldemort sneered angrily. "Your lack of desire for knowledge and strength confuse me; control, strength, and power, boy, your eye is off those targets!"

"Well, old man," Tom spat, "perhaps your confusion is down to the fact that you're going senile!"

Voldemort laughed, well, something that sounded like a laugh was actually a low, rattling sound coming from his throat. "If this bores you, then perhaps you should tell me what physical activity you would enjoy more?" Sudden images flitted through Tom's mind; sounds of a whimpering girl lying beneath him, letting him control her, and make her do what he wanted. Voldemort gave another guttural laugh, his mirthless eyes burning into Tom. "This is what distracts you from your goal? Unfortunate," Voldemort muttered as Tom sneered at not using his Occlumens. "Unfortunate that this little wench, whoever she is, made you forget your barriers. Crucio!"

Tom let out a shout of pain as the curse hit him squarely in the chest, making him fall to his knees, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to fight the curse off. He wouldn't give into the pain; he hated pain far too much. Blood was dripping from his palms now, as he forced himself to stand, gritting his teeth together to prevent himself from crying out any further, until he shouted out as he finally threw the curse off. And he smirked at Voldemort, breathing heavily as he triumphed.

"I thought you would give in for a moment then," Voldemort said quietly, sounding rather disappointed that Tom hadn't given in. "Girls," he continued with a scowl, "make you weak. Love," he spat the word out like it was a fatal disease.

"Is weak," Tom finished in a low voice. "I hate her," he muttered viciously. "I want to destroy her, I want to destroy everything she loves… especially Harry Potter."

Voldemort remained in his seat as his younger self made this declaration, a slow smirk crossing his gruesome face. "She's still a virgin," Tom said with a shadowed look on his face, "if I were to have her before Potter could get his filthy hands on her, he'd be so broken-hearted, and she'd just be broken, and I could laugh at them, and tell Potter what he missed, tell him what he had cast aside."

He gave a sinister chuckle as Tom finished. "That sounds loathsome, and it would make that brat unguarded… perhaps, I'll let you indulge in this fantasy of yours, if there is time for it." Tom grinned slyly, but Voldemort looked carefully at his eyes, noticing the possessive look that flashed there whenever he spoke of this wench; he would have to keep an eye on his activities. "Now, you will focus on your running, until the Swords master is ready. You'll be more alert in duels, you'll acquire more stealth; it is as important as your advanced magic, remember that."

"Where did you come up with that?" Tom said impatiently.

"This is not Muggle Studies, so focus!" Voldemort hissed irritatedly. "You'll complete this training or I'll take your precious redhead, and kill her myself."

Tom glared at him with a venomous sneer. "I'm listening, old man, lecture away…."

"The Swords master will have his memory erased after your training is sufficient enough, mastering the whole thing would take too long," he explained, waving his hand nonchalantly at the information. "Every Thursday he will arrive in the ballroom, and that is where you will practice. Every other day, I expect you to demonstrate your skills with advanced wandless magic, and find something else to impress me."

"Whatever you wish, your Highness," Tom said sarcastically. "Will pulling a rabbit out of a hat suffice? Or a never-ending handkerchief?"

"Practice your sarcasm elsewhere, and take your foolishness with you."

"I suppose becoming a miserable old git is the price for wanting so much power," Tom chuckled, and quickly dodged a hex flying at him. "Ha! You are getting too old for this!"

Voldemort gave another lipless smirk to his pupil. "Well done, boy, perhaps today wasn't such a disappointment after all."

"I'm so pleased you feel that way," Tom replied sardonically.

"Leave!" growled Voldemort. "Before I throw something worse your way!"

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The very next year, when his magical training was complete to Voldemort's standard, he was unexpectedly destroyed; no one had anticipated the final battle on the day it had come. The alertness of the Death Eaters left behind had made Tom suspicious that something very bad had happened, and once he was told, all he could think about was where was he going to hide? Surely Malfoy's Manor would be overturned, of course he could rush into battle and finish Potter off, erasing him from all existence, but he was a Slytherin, he had Slytherin morals, and they didn't tell him to run head-first into battle without a plan like a thick-headed Gryffindor. He needed to plan before he did anything like that. Now, he realised very quickly, wasn't the time to unveil himself. If anything, he needed to veil himself, and that was exactly what he did. He went to a cottage owned by one of his unimprisoned Death Eaters, along with a few others remaining.

Then he received the morning paper the very next day he had settled into the cottage; it claimed that Potter, too, had died at his own hand… sort of. Tom's elation reached breaking point, and he couldn't stop laughing in his hideout, he had instantly made for his room, wanting to see Ginevra's reaction to this wonderful news.

She was so deliciously broken, sobbing into her mothers' arms like she was a five-year old girl. He wanted to hold her, and squeeze her to him as she cried into his shirt, making it painful for her to draw breath, and he'd whisper darkly in her ear that she needn't cry, because she belonged to him once more…. And he'd make her do things she hated; make her watch as he killed every single last member of her family. He would make her obey him; threaten her with killing more of her family if she didn't comply. She'd utterly loathe that.

However, Tom's delight was soon interrupted when he heard her sob; "… and there w-wasn't eve-even a body, h-he just vanished!" His smirk was quickly replaced by a sneer; this didn't mean that that infuriating do-gooder was dead at all! Well, if he wasn't dead, he would kill him himself, in fact, it would give him great pleasure to have the privilege of murdering the so-called "Boy-Who-Lived", and crushing his heart at the same time, to see his only love belonging to him….

Little Ginevra… so, so upset…. He would have his chance with her, some day close, he just knew it. But, for now, he had to lay low for a while, making his own plans with the remaining Death Eaters that he had, and it wasn't a lot. Of course, this meant he had even few experienced left, like Bellatrix Lestrange, who was twisted, and very useful, but seemed to irritatingly infatuated with him. And he had a few werewolves left. That was about it, however, his persuasive charm, he knew, could ensnare almost anyone he wanted. Plus, his time gaining new Death Eaters gave the Wizarding World the chance to fall into a false sense of security.

But, as time wore on, gaining new recruits seemed a daunting task, especially with all the hype immediately around Lord Voldemort rushing through every corner of the Wizarding World. People were just too afraid when everyone, mainly the Ministry and the Aurors, were on the look out for Death Eaters. It became difficult, and tiresome, so for the next two years, he remained in exile, continuing to practice alone with his sword whenever he got bored with making plans, or he'd just watch Ginevra grieving, and she grieved, a lot.

And, soon enough, the day came when there were no secret-revealing articles about his life anymore, and this pattern continued for a month; obviously they had run out of material, and two years was a long enough time to fall into a false sense of security, and he had some proof, because the Aurors were less active in seeking out any Death Eaters, claiming they had died in the final battle. This was the time, now he would enter the Wizarding World without a blemish on his false records; they had been drawn up some time before Lord Voldemort had been killed, and he was to go under the name Thomas Carnaby, not very original, but Tom was no good with existing names, only making ones up. He was Thomas Carnaby, a rich businessman whose business was insuring people's money, very drab and very Muggle-like, but it would give him good cause to take what his dead, or Kissed, Death Eaters had left behind in their bank vaults, and he was certain that he would find more than just money. Of course, he couldn't access those who had surviving children, such as Malfoy, Nott, Parkinson, and a few others. His records also said that he had been living in Belgium to escape the war for a few years. And, his birthday was on the 31st December 1979. It was perfectly flawless.

And so, now, he was surely ready to finally take what belonged to him; the world, and Ginevra….

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End of Prologue

A/N: As you can have gathered, this is slightly AU. And in the next chapter we meet Ginny.