'And that's the last of it.' Ginny thought to herself, appraising her neatly-packed little trunk, and then turning to place her last book in it – The Beginners Guide to Transfiguration.

Ginny's fingers gripped around the binding. The pages flared open, and out of her sight, a small, black, book thudded to the ground.

Ginny swung around, and bending over, picked up the small black book. She placed it on her little table, and placed her Transfiguration book in her trunk, and picked up the little book again.

Flicking open to a random page; she saw that the pages had little dates. August 14. It was a diary.

Ginny thumbed through the pages. It was blank as far as she could see.

She closed the book, and left it.

A few moments later, Ginny returned to her table, bearing an inkpot and a quill. She meticulously set herself down at her little table, and opened the diary to August 19th.

My name is Ginny Weasley. Ginny smiled down at the page, and then began chewing on the feathers at the tip of her quill, contemplating how she would continue this piece of her autobiography.

Ginny gasped and accidently sent her chair tumbling over. Just at that moment, there was an explosion in the twins room, masking the sound of her fall.

The ink had vanished.

Ginny scrambled up, and peeked over the edge of the table; trying to convince herself she'd just imagined it. She saw a blurry patch of blue from her acute angle of sight. Sighing with relief, Ginny laughed lowly at her own panic, and sat up on her chair again.

And what is a Weasley doing? Writing in the pages? How did it get it? Why does it write? Is it its business, does it belong to it?

Ginny was all befuddled. Diaries weren't supposed to suck ink away and write back. Trembling, she dipped her quill and wrote in a messier script than before.

I'm very sorry to offend you, Diary…I didn't realise that you…well, that you talked.

Hmph. The diary replied. It better learn its language. I did not talk.

Ginny was rather offended, even though the diary was right; it had written back to her. Still, being called 'it' and corrected spurned Ginny, and she replied with harder words.

And I do not like being called it, I am a girl, you know.

How am I supposed to know that? Do you think I have eyes?

You are very contrary, do you know – do you have a name? Ginny flicked to the very front page; she'd missed it before.

This booked belonged to Tom Riddle.

Well, Tom Riddle, as I was saying, you are very contrary.

Well, Ginny Weasley, wouldn't you be if someone started scribbling away in your diary?

I suppose I would be.

Exactly you would be!

Do you want me to stop?

Well, what would you want if you were in my situation?

I..I would want me to stop.

There you have it!

Well I'll stop! Ginny wrote harder than usual. Clearly that's what you want.

One more thing before you go.

Yes?

What is the time?

Past sunset; it's night time. I don't know exactly.

Then goodnight, lady!

The book suddenly slammed shut and Ginny went to bed.

In the morning, the strange book of Tom Riddle was weighing on her mind. She had half a mind to take it down to her parents…but…she did want to get into Gryffindor, and what Gryffindor would she be if she couldn't deal with a naughty diary that didn't want to be written in.

'I'll show him.' Ginny thought. 'He won't get rid of Ginny Weasley so easily.'

Ginny opened the diary, and stared determinedly at the pages. Ink from her quill dripped onto the page.

So, back again, Ginny?

Yes, and I've got a few words for you too! You're a bad diary, Tom Riddle!

Indeed?

Yes, and very lazy one too; not letting anyone write in you. Why I bet Tom Riddle threw you away because he couldn't bear his ink disappearing all the time, you word-sink! Well, you won't get away with that behaviour with me.

The book was blank for a moment.

'Well,' Ginny thought. 'I guess that sunk in good and proper.'

Well, I can't really help myself with the wordsinking, Ginny Weasley. It is part of me, as much as…err..eating is a part of you.

Is a part of Ron. Ginny replied, giggling.

Who is Ron?

He's my brother. He's one of my brothers.

How many are there?

Six.

It must be nice, to have so many siblings.

They can get a bit annoying; I'm the youngest, you see.

Oh. I never had any siblings.

Well…I'm sorry?

That's just the way it is, Ginny. Tell me, what year is it?

1992. The 20th of August, to be precise.

September the 1st is only a few days away. Are any of your brothers going?

To Hogwarts! Yes and so am I! I'm eleven this year.

Eleven? Well that does make you a grown up young lady? Well, where are you going to be? Gryffindor? Hufflepuff? Ravenclaw? Or Slytherin?"

I should like to be a Gryffindor. My whole family's been in Gryffindor.

What about Slytherin?

Yeuck. Slytherins are slimy.

Well, I never! What makes you so contrary to Slytherins, anyway?

I met one; Draco Malfoy. Oily little rodent; uses more hair conditioner than I do.

And you judge all of us by one boy?

Are you Slytherin?

Maybe I am, and maybe I'm not. Does it matter?

Well…

If I was a Hufflepuff, or a Ravenclaw, would you like me better or worse?

I…I don't suppose it would matter.

Well, haven't you answered your own question?

It doesn't matter.

Well, to tell the truth, I am a Slytherin. Least ways, Tom Riddle was. I wonder what's become of him…me…whatever.

Maybe we can ask him; I'll bet he'll be happy to see you again.

No doubt he would if you can find him.

Is he hiding?

I wouldn't know. I was made fifty years ago; sort of like a portrait with moving and talking, except I write back to people who write to me. I suppose Tom Riddle made me so he didn't have to talk so much to people; he was a bit of loner, as far as I knew him.

I'm a bit confused. Are you Tom Riddle or aren't you?

Is a photograph of you, you?

Why…yes.

And you are you, too?

Yes.

Well, I'm Tom Riddle, and so is the real Tom Riddle, if he's still around.

Still around, why wouldn't he be? Was he old?

No, Ginny; as a matter of fact, I was a student in Hogwarts, and those were dark days. Muggles were engaged in a huge war; and so were us Wizards. England was threatened by a Dark Wizard, the most powerful in living memory.

What was his name? Ginny asked, dreading the reply. Would Tom actually write his name?

Gellert Grindelwald.

Well. That was unexpected.

Well, Tom, I think we've got a lot to tell each other.