Ginny's POV
The Burrow felt different at night. During the day, it was all controlled chaos - Mum bustling about with magical cooking implements, Dad tinkering with Muggle artifacts, the twins plotting their next prank, and Ron complaining about everything. But at night, when everyone was asleep, the old house seemed to breathe differently. The walls creaked with memories, and every shadow felt like it was hiding a secret.
Ginny lay in her narrow bed, staring at the ceiling where she'd stuck glow-in-the-dark stars years ago. They were fading now, barely visible in the darkness, but she could still make out the constellation patterns Bill had taught her when she was seven. Back when Bill still lived at home, before he went off to work for Gringotts and became too important to spend much time with his baby sister.
Four days, she thought, rolling onto her side. Four days until Hogwarts.
The excitement was overwhelming. She'd been dreaming of this moment since she was old enough to understand what Hogwarts meant to her family. Every September, she'd watched her brothers pack their trunks and disappear through the barrier at King's Cross, leaving her behind with nothing but promises that "next year" would be her turn.
Now it was next year, and she couldn't sleep.
"Ginevra Molly Weasley," she whispered to herself, testing how it might sound when Professor McGonagall called her name for sorting. Would she be brave enough for Gryffindor? All her brothers had been sorted there - Bill the brilliant, Charlie the dragon-tamer, Percy the perfect prefect, and even the twins with their spectacular rule-breaking. Then there was Ron, who'd managed to befriend Harry Potter himself in his first week.
Harry Potter. The thought made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with Hogwarts anxiety. She'd barely managed to speak to him last year at King's Cross Station, and when she had, she'd asked the most ridiculous question about the platform. Mum had been mortified, and Ginny had wanted to disappear into the floor.
He probably thinks I'm just some silly little girl, she thought miserably. Another starstruck fan who can't string two words together.
Which wasn't fair, because she could string words together perfectly well when she wasn't staring at the most famous wizard of their generation. She'd had plenty to say to the twins when they'd teased her about her crush, and she'd certainly had words for Ron when he'd made fun of her for wanting to see Harry off at the station.
But the moment Harry Potter looked at her with those green eyes, her brain had apparently decided to take a holiday.
The house settled around her with a particularly loud creak, and Ginny sighed. This was pointless. She wasn't going to sleep anytime soon, not with her mind racing through every possible disaster that could befall her at Hogwarts. Maybe she should get up and finish organizing her school supplies. At least that would be productive.
She slipped out of bed carefully, avoiding the floorboard that squeaked near the door. The last thing she needed was to wake Mum, who would fuss and worry and probably try to make her drink warm milk or some other remedy that would only make her feel more like a child.
Her trunk sat open in the corner of her room, half-packed and looking rather pathetic compared to the organized chaos of her brothers' trunks. Ron had packed everything in about ten minutes, shoving robes and books and random quills into his trunk with no regard for organization. Percy had color-coded his supplies and made a checklist. The twins had packed what looked like enough pranking supplies to stock a mini joke shop.
And Ginny... well, Ginny had been staring at her supplies for the past few days, trying to make everything perfect.
Her cauldron sat next to the trunk, filled with the textbooks and supplies they'd bought in Diagon Alley. Standard Book of Spells Grade 1, A History of Magic, Magical Theory... she'd read through most of them already, trying to prepare herself. The twins had laughed at her for studying before school even started, but Ginny figured she needed every advantage she could get.
She knelt beside the cauldron and began pulling out books, stacking them neatly on her small desk. Magical Drafts and Potions felt heavier than it looked. The Standard Book of Spells had pages that seemed to shimmer in the moonlight streaming through her window. And there, at the bottom of the cauldron underneath her other supplies, was a book she didn't remember buying.
It was small and black, with covers that looked like they'd been expensive once but had faded with age. The leather was soft under her fingers, worn smooth like it had been handled by many people over many years. But when she opened it, every page was completely blank.
That's odd, she thought, flipping through the empty pages. Why would Mum buy me a blank book?
But even as she wondered, she felt a strange sense of... rightness about the book. Like it belonged with her somehow. Maybe it was meant to be a diary? She'd never kept one before, but she'd heard other girls talking about writing down their thoughts and feelings. Maybe Mum thought it would help her adjust to being away from home.
Ginny set the diary on her desk next to her other books and continued unpacking. Quills, ink bottles, parchment, scales for Potions class... everything she needed for her first year at Hogwarts. But her eyes kept drifting back to the mysterious blank book.
It wouldn't hurt to try writing in it, she thought. Maybe it would help me organize my thoughts.
She'd certainly heard enough lectures from Percy about the importance of organizing one's thoughts. And with everything swirling around in her head - Hogwarts anxiety, Harry Potter confusion, fears about living up to her brothers' reputations - maybe writing it down would help.
Ginny picked up one of her new quills and dipped it in ink. The diary felt warm under her other hand, like it had been sitting in sunlight instead of buried under her school books. She opened it to the first page and paused, suddenly feeling silly.
What am I supposed to write? "Dear Diary, I'm scared of school"?
But the blank page seemed to be waiting for something, and the quill felt comfortable in her hand. Before she could talk herself out of it, she began to write.
Tom's POV
I felt the diary being opened, felt the warmth of small hands touching the cover. The magical signature was instantly familiar - young, bright, tinged with anxiety and excitement. Ginny Weasley had found me.
Here we go, I thought, accessing Tom Riddle's memories about the diary's functions. Time to find out if I can really control this thing.
I could sense her hesitation, her uncertainty about what to write. She was nervous, worried about school, feeling inadequate compared to her accomplished brothers. All exactly what the original Tom Riddle would have exploited, the perfect emotional vulnerabilities for a predatory horcrux to manipulate.
But I'm not going to do that, I reminded myself firmly. I'm going to help her.
The quill touched the page, and I felt the first drops of ink soak into the paper. The diary's magic activated automatically after she finished writing, designed to absorb whatever was written and use it to craft responses. But this time, I was in control of those responses.
Ginny's POV
Dear... future me who'll reads this, Ginny wrote, feeling ridiculous but continuing anyway. I don't know why I'm writing in a blank book, but I can't sleep and I need to do something with all these thoughts bouncing around in my head.
The words flowed easier than she'd expected, her quill moving smoothly across the page. Maybe this wasn't such a silly idea after all.
I'm going to Hogwarts in four days, and I should be excited. I AM excited. But I'm also terrified. What if I'm not smart enough? What if I can't do magic as well as my brothers? What if I get sorted into a different house and disappoint everyone?
As she wrote, Ginny felt some of the tension in her shoulders starting to ease. There was something soothing about getting the worries out of her head and onto paper, even if no one would ever read them.
All my brothers are so accomplished. Bill was Head Boy and works for Gringotts now. Charlie was Quidditch Captain and works with dragons. Percy is already a prefect and he's only in his fifth year. Even Ron managed to help save the Philosopher's Stone in his first year. And the twins... well, they're legends in their own way.
Suddenly she noticed that... the ink was disappearing.
Ginny blinked, sure she must be seeing things. But no - the words she'd just written were fading from the page, as if the paper was absorbing them. Within moments, the page was blank again, as if she'd never written anything at all.
What in Merlin's name...?
Before she could process what had happened, new words began appearing on the page. Elegant handwriting in deep black ink, forming letters that definitely weren't hers.
Hello, Ginny. My name is Tom.
Tom's POV
I felt her shock and confusion as the words appeared, her magical signature spiking with surprise and a touch of fear. This was the crucial moment - how I responded now would set the tone for everything that came after.
Be gentle, I told myself. Be honest. Be the friend she needs.
I continued writing, choosing each word carefully.
I know this must be startling. You've found my diary, and I imagine you're wondering how I can write back to you. The truth is, I'm what you might call a memory - a part of someone who lived a long time ago, preserved in this book.
I paused, sensing her growing alarm. I needed to reassure her quickly.
I don't want to frighten you, Ginny. I've been alone in this diary for a very long time, and your words... they reminded me what it was like to have a friend. You wrote about feeling scared about Hogwarts, about not measuring up to your brothers. I understand those feelings more than you might think.
Ginny's POV
Ginny stared at the words appearing on the page, her heart pounding. A memory? Preserved in a book? It sounded like something out of the more advanced magic textbooks Percy was always reading.
This is impossible, she thought. Books don't write back. People don't live in diaries.
But the evidence was right there in front of her, elegant handwriting spelling out words that seemed genuinely kind. And despite the impossibility of it all, she found herself curious rather than truly frightened.
Maybe it's like the portraits in Hogwarts that my brothers told me about, she reasoned. They're magical people who can talk and interact. Maybe this Tom is something similar.
With trembling fingers, she dipped her quill in ink again.
This is really strange, she wrote. Are you... are you real? I mean, are you actually a person, or just some kind of spell?
Again, her words faded as soon as she finished writing them, absorbed into the page. And again, a response appeared in that same elegant script.
I suppose that depends on how you define 'real.' I have thoughts and feelings and memories of being alive. I remember being your age, remember the anxiety of starting at a new school. In that sense, I'm as real as anyone. But I exist only in this diary now, a shadow of who I once was.
I'm sorry if this frightens you. I know how strange it must seem. If you want to close the diary and never write in it again, I'll understand. But I hope... I hope you might want to talk sometimes. It's been very lonely, and you seem like someone who could use a friend who understands what you're going through.
Ginny read the words twice, her initial fear giving way to something else. Sympathy, maybe? This Tom - whoever or whatever he was - sounded lonely. And he was right about her needing a friend who understood.
I'm not frightened, she wrote back, surprised to realize it was true. Just confused. How long have you been in this diary? And how did it end up with my school supplies?
I've been here for fifty years, came the response. As for how I ended up with your supplies... that's a longer story, and not a pleasant one. Someone who wanted to cause trouble planted this diary where your family would find it. They expected me to... well, to hurt you.
Ginny's blood ran cold. Hurt me? How?
The original purpose of this diary was to possess whoever wrote in it. To slowly take over their mind and body until nothing of the original person remained. The person who planted it in your belongings expected that to happen to you.
The words appeared slowly, as if Tom was reluctant to write them.
But I won't let that happen, Ginny. I have control over the diary's magic now, and I choose to use it to help rather than harm. Still, I need to warn you about something important.
Ginny found herself leaning closer to the page, despite the chill running down her spine.
You should be very careful about trusting magical objects when you can't see their intentions. Objects like this diary, where the magic is hidden and the purpose unclear - they're often the most dangerous. A person can lie to you, but at least you can see their face, try to read their expressions. With enchanted objects, you have no way of knowing what they're really designed to do until it's too late.
Ginny's POV
Ginny stared at the words, a laugh bubbling up in her throat before she could stop it. She clapped her hand over her mouth, but it was too late - the giggle escaped.
That's rich, she wrote, grinning despite herself. You're warning me about trusting dangerous magical items when you literally just told me you're a magical item that was designed to possess people. Don't you think that's a bit ironic?
For a long moment, no response appeared. Ginny began to worry she'd offended him somehow. But then, slowly, new words formed on the page.
You're... you're absolutely right. That is incredibly ironic, isn't it? Here I am, a potentially dangerous magical artifact, warning you about potentially dangerous magical artifacts. I suppose I'm rather embarrassed now.
I didn't mean to be a hypocrite. I suppose what I meant was... well, you shouldn't trust me either, not completely. Not until you've had time to see that my intentions really are good. I know I SAY I want to help you, but words are easy. Actions matter more.
Ginny found herself smiling at the obvious embarrassment in the writing. There was something endearing about this powerful magical... whatever Tom was... getting flustered because she'd called him out on his logical inconsistency.
I appreciate the honesty, she wrote back. And the warning, even if it was a bit ironic. But you know what? You've already done something that makes me think you might be trustworthy.
What's that?
You told me the truth about what this diary was supposed to do. You could have lied, could have pretended to be just a normal magical journal or something. But you warned me instead, even though it meant admitting you could be dangerous. That doesn't sound like something someone with bad intentions would do.
There was another pause before Tom responded.
You're very perceptive for someone so young. And very kind, to give me the benefit of the doubt after what I've told you.
But you're right - I chose to be honest because I want to be worthy of your trust, not just demand it. I've seen what happens when people use deception and manipulation to get what they want. It never ends well for anyone.
May I ask you something, Ginny?
Of course.
Why aren't you more frightened? Most people would run screaming if they found a diary that wrote back and admitted it was designed to possess them. But you're sitting here having a conversation with me as if this is perfectly normal.
Ginny considered the question seriously. Why wasn't she more scared? By all rights, she should be terrified. But instead, she felt... curious. Hopeful, even.
I suppose it's because you don't feel dangerous, she wrote finally. I know that probably sounds naive, but there's something about the way you write... you sound lonely and sad, not threatening. And you keep warning me to be careful, which seems like the opposite of what someone dangerous would do.
Plus, she added with a grin, my brothers have gotten into so much trouble over the years that a talking diary barely registers on the scale of "weird magical things happening to Weasleys." At least you're not trying to blow up the house or turn me into a ferret.
Your brothers tried to turn you into a ferret?
The twins threatened to, anyway. They said they'd gotten hold of some advanced Transfiguration spells. Mum put a stop to it before they could try, thank Merlin.
They sound... interesting.
That's one word for them. "Terrifying" is another. But I love them, even when they're driving me mental.
You're very lucky to have a family that loves you, even if they drive you mental sometimes. I... I didn't have that growing up.
There was something wistful in those words that made Ginny's heart ache.
What happened to your family? she wrote gently.
I grew up in an orphanage. Never knew my parents, never had siblings or anyone who really cared what happened to me. The other children were afraid of me because strange things happened when I was angry or upset. I learned early that I had to rely only on myself.
That sounds terribly lonely.
It was. Which is probably why your friendship means so much to me already, even though we've only just met. You're the first person in... well, in fifty years... who's talked to me like I'm a real person instead of just a curiosity or a threat.
Ginny felt tears prick at her eyes. Poor Tom, trapped in a diary for fifty years with no one to talk to, no one to care about him. No wonder he seemed so grateful for her attention.
Well, you have a friend now, she wrote firmly. And I don't care if you're a memory or a ghost or whatever you are. Everyone deserves to have someone who cares about them.
Thank you, Ginny. You have no idea how much that means to me.
Now, you mentioned you were worried about starting Hogwarts. Would you like to talk about it? I attended Hogwarts myself, many years ago. Perhaps I could offer some advice or reassurance.
Ginny felt a surge of relief. Finally, someone who understood her fears and might actually be able to help.
I'm terrified I won't be good enough, she admitted. All my brothers are so brilliant in their own ways. Bill was Head Boy, Charlie was a Quidditch star, Percy is already a prefect, and Ron helped save the Philosopher's Stone in his first year. How am I supposed to live up to that?
Ginny, may I tell you something? The pressure to live up to other people's achievements is one of the heaviest burdens a person can carry. I know because I carried it myself.
You did?
Oh yes. I was desperate to prove myself, to show that I was special, that I mattered. I thought if I could just be the best at everything - the smartest, the most powerful, the most accomplished - then people would have to respect me. Then I would finally matter.
Did it work?
In some ways, yes. I was the top student in my year, Head Boy, admired by teachers and students alike. But you know what I learned? Achievement without authenticity is hollow. I was so focused on being what I thought others wanted me to be that I lost sight of who I actually was.
Your worth isn't determined by how you compare to your brothers, Ginny. You're not Bill's shadow or Charlie's echo or Percy's reflection. You're Ginny Weasley, and that's enough. More than enough.
But what if I'm not smart enough? What if I fail my classes or get sorted into the wrong house or make a fool of myself?
Then you'll learn from it and try again. That's what school is for - learning, not already knowing everything. And as for making a fool of yourself... well, I can guarantee you that every single student at Hogwarts has done something embarrassing. I once accidentally turned my eyebrows blue for a week after trying to show off in Charms class.
Despite her worries, Ginny found herself giggling. Really?
Really. Professor Flitwick had to fix them for me because I'd botched the counter-charm so badly I'd made them bright purple instead. I was mortified, but you know what? Within a week, no one even remembered it happened. People are usually too worried about their own embarrassments to dwell on yours.
That... actually makes me feel better.
Good. Now, what house are you hoping to be sorted into?
Gryffindor, like all my brothers. But what if the Hat puts me somewhere else? What if I'm not brave enough?
Ginny, you're writing in a diary that just told you it was designed to possess people. Not only are you not running away screaming, you're trying to make friends with me. If that's not brave, I don't know what is.
You really think so?
I know so. Courage isn't the absence of fear - it's doing what needs to be done despite being afraid. And you, my dear friend, are one of the bravest people I've ever met.
Ginny felt warmth spread through her chest at the praise. Tom really did seem to understand her in a way no one else did. Not even her family, much as she loved them, really got how scared she was of not measuring up.
Thank you, she wrote. I feel so much better about everything now. It's like... like having someone who actually listens and understands.
That's what friends are for. And Ginny? I want you to promise me something.
What?
Promise me you'll remember what I've told you tonight. Not just about Hogwarts, but about being careful with magical objects you don't understand. Even though I've chosen to help you, there are other things out there that might not be so kind. Always be cautious, always ask questions, and never let anyone - magical object or otherwise - pressure you into doing something that doesn't feel right.
I promise. But Tom?
Yes?
Thank you for being honest with me from the start. And thank you for wanting to be my friend instead of... well, instead of what you were supposed to be.
Thank you for giving me the chance to be better than I was designed to be. Sweet dreams, Ginny. Tomorrow is one day closer to your great adventure.
Ginny smiled as she closed the diary, feeling lighter than she had in weeks. For the first time since getting her Hogwarts letter, she wasn't terrified of starting school. She was actually looking forward to it.
And she had a friend who understood - really understood - what she was going through.
As she climbed back into bed, Ginny felt sleep finally beginning to claim her. Tomorrow, she'd wake up and there would be only three days left until Hogwarts. But instead of counting down to disaster, she'd be counting down to the beginning of everything wonderful.
Thank you, Tom, she thought drowsily. Thank you for being there for me.
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Author's Note: Awww...! isn't that sweet? see? this is why I wanted to rewrite the whole thing, I really got much more inspired when I reviewed my own writing before and felt it lacked something, after all... it lacked the most important thing... soul...!!!