I've never had a diary before.
Those six words, written by a rather clumsy yet confident hand, shook the memory from his deepest slumber. He remained motionless, holding his breath until he remembered he had no need to breathe, and then rolled his eyes at his own stupidity. Better wait this one out, he reasoned with himself. Who knows if it's a fluke. He left the ink on his pages, waiting to see what would happen.
After a brief moment, he felt the sharp tip of a quill scratch more lines and curves over his resting place. I haven't been sleeping well since H started staying at my house.
Hmm. So no clue yet to any identification. He wondered whether now was a good time to wait patiently or to act.
Fred and George told me to come downstairs because He wanted to talk to me, but it turned out that He was in the garden with Ron playing Quiddich and they had made the whole thing up to tease me.
Aah. A small light went off in his head. Wizard, or witch. A relief, really; he wouldn't want a muggle dirtying up his pages with their boorish drabble. He felt he had enough ammunition to act and leached some ink off of the writer's sentences.
I am not a normal diary, he told the writer, wishing to come off as gentle and to not frighten away his first event in almost fifty years. I can write back, if you want me to.
There was a very, very long pause and he worried that he had spoken too soon. Finally, though, a quill touched his skin.
Who What are you? Several droplets of excess ink marred the words and he drank them down, letting them fuel him.
My name is Tom, and this is my diary.
The pause was much briefer than the previous one.
I'm so sorry… I didn't know this diary belonged to anyone. Would you like me to put it back?
He grinned more broadly now, grateful that he was too small and insubstantial to be seen. What a polite one, he chuckled.
Of course not, he wrote, pretending to be as awkward as the writer had been moments before. I mean, I don't mind if you don't mind. I'm rather alone, you see.
Moments later, he was covered in words once more.
Alone? Were you trapped in there, by some evil spell? Do you need my help?
Aah, a bright one. And kind, too, if a bit naïve.
No, he assured. I am just a diary. I like it in here. But I haven't talked to anyone in quite some time; please, if it's not too much to ask, would you give me a moment of your time?
People respond to loneliness, he crowed to himself. The soft-headed ones always feel it whenever there's not a crowd of noisy people about. This is too easy.
Alright. What would you like to talk about?
It was best to go for the infallible.
Tell me about yourself. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but it did sound as if you were having some troubles, earlier.
He wondered if he had laid it on a bit thick; clearly this person had been writing down their thoughts earlier, and if he had learned anything over the years it was that people did not like their minds to be invaded. But perhaps not:
I'm Ginny.
Bingo. Something to work with. Female; it was a start.
That's a very beautiful name. Is it short for Virginia?
No, it's Ginerva. Isn't that an awful name? Mum says it was after one of her great aunts.
"Mum", huh? That suggested he was still in Europe, and it also hinted at youth; an adult or young adult would probably try to distance herself with "my mother".
I think it's a lovely name. Call me old-fashioned, but I think family is very important.
I don't. Family is awful! My brothers are always teasing me so much.
Maybe it's because I don't have brothers or sisters, but I am curious about them. Do you have a lot of them?
Yes and no. I have six brothers, but no sisters. I'm the only girl.
I bet they spoil and protect you a lot. That doesn't sound so bad; it sounds fun!
No, it's not! They always get everything. I'm the baby so most of my jumpers and boots and trousers come from them. There are never any girls to talk to but mum, and she doesn't count.
Time to tread carefully. Agree and earn the bonus points of being "on her side", or disagree and prove that he really paid close attention to and valued her words.
There's nothing good about having brothers?
There was a slight pause here and although he had no idea what she looked like, Tom imagined her chewing the question over.
Maybe. My two oldest brothers, Bill and Charlie, are a lot of fun. But they're never around because Bill's working all the time and Charlie is 1,645 miles away. But when they do come home they always have presents for me.
She had hesitated over the numbers, as if struggling to recall what her parents had told her in an effort to show off that she was smart. Time to play off of the desire for admiration and to learn a few things, too.
That's very far away! I can't even imagine that many miles. Where is he?
He's in Romania, studying dragons.
Romania. It took a very quick calculation, but from what he had learned he was almost completely certain that they were at the borders of Scotland, remarkably close to Hogwarts. Quite a conversation he was having!
Even while I went to Hogwarts I never imagined studying abroad. You and your brother Charlie sound like interesting people.
He could almost hear her gasp at the school's name. It was rather delicious.
You went to Hogwarts?
He couldn't foul this up, not even one word; this form of communication was more like speaking than writing because every penned syllable was immediately processed by her brain; there was no taking anything back.
I did. I was in my sixth year when I became this diary back in 1942. It's been a long time, but I'm still sixteen.
Perhaps he shouldn't have mentioned the year; he wanted her to think of him as her friend, not as someone older than her father. He could almost see her weigh the questions he had brought to her mind; would she ask him about himself and his transformation into biblio form? Evidentially she was of a much simpler mind.
I'm starting Hogwarts this fall.
Game, set, match. She was insecure, vulnerable, chatty, naïve, about to attend Hogwarts, and very, very young. He couldn't have found a more ideal person to manipulate. Ginny, he cackled unabashedly to himself, you are mine.
Oh, I've got to go! Mum is calling me down to set the table for dinner.
Quickly, quickly, so she doesn't forget!
Thank you so much for talking to me. Maybe we can talk more soon?
The answer came quickly and rather messily.
Yes.
Before Tom felt the cover of his diary gently shut. Smiling to nobody in the darkness, Tom counted the seconds and planned.