Harry Potter was almost way too disappointing. She would have thought after the life he had to suffer through, the boy would be wise enough to use at least some of that power that had been given to him the night his parents had gotten brutally murdered. Imagine her surprise to find out the boy wasn't anything better than Neville Longbottom who was more than happy enough to make a fool out of himself if one simply just left him all alone with his stupid little plants. And don't get her wrong, she would just love to use him up to her advantage, but she had neither the time nor the patience to be able to put up with the boy right now. Besides, there were far better things she could use wasting her time with. Like, for an example, getting herself sorted into the right house.

"Another Weasley, huh?" The dusty old hat seemed more amused than he should be. "Now, where shall I put you in? A Gryffindor, perhaps? No? Well then — SLYTHERIN!"

A Lonely Little Princess in the Castle

I

Ginevra Weasley had a secret. It was one nobody could ever find out. Not even the many giggling girls she sometimes hung around with in an effort not to seem like some a complete loner. Ginevra Weasley had a diary. And inside that diary, lived a seventeen-years-old Tom Riddle with his cruel twist of a smirk — he wasn't the type to smile — with his fancy lies she might have believed had she been anybody else — he had been greatly amused when he had found out the wicked truth behind the innocent little smile she flashed to everyone she would meet.

Dear Tom,

Today, Gilderoy Lockhart had made a giant fool out of himself. While trying to fix Potter's already broken arm, he had made the bone disappear altogether. It had been a great source of an amusement. Though, honestly speaking, I cannot begin to imagine what Albus Dumbledore had been thinking when he made the decision to hire the blubbering fool.

Yours truly, Ginevra Weasley

It didn't take a long time before the writing on the diary disappeared altogether, replaced by Tom's familiarly elegant looking handwriting.

Sweet Ginevra,

As much as I wish I could comfort you by telling the old man hadn't always been so foolish, I rather don't think you would appreciate me lying to you so shamelessly. You deserve nothing more than the whole truth. And you shall have it.

I remember the very first time I had met him very well. Almost as if it had only happened yesterday. It isn't a pleasant memory, as I am quite certain you can already guess.

I had been only eleven-years-old when he had come to visit me in my muggle orphanage, to tell me what I already knew about myself. He told me I was special; a wizard. He told me there was a school specifically for those like me far away from the hellhole I had been trapped in for a very long time. And for the first time, he made me feel a hope. Only taking it away minutes later when he had looked at me as if I was this evil little thing already. And for that, I think, I could never forgive him.

Yours truly, Tom

Ginevra read the diary entry carefully, hazel eyes examining every elegant curve of the letter before she held her pen in her hand once more, and started writing a reply.

Tom,

I do hope you aren't expecting me to pity you. If that had been your intention, dearest, then I would be forced to rethink my judgement of you. And I don't think either of us wish for that to happen.

Yours, Ginevra

Sweet thing,

Of course not. You take me for such a sentimental little fool? If you had even begun to feel a shred of a pity for me, darling, I would have been forced to end your fragile little life. And none of us want that, right?

The reason I have told you that particular tale was to teach you to know better than to put faith in that man. Regardless of what the rest of your traitorous little family might think, he ain't to be trusted.

Yours truly, Tom Riddle

Tom,

Threaten me again, and I would flush the bloody diary down the toilet.

With the greatest love and respect, Ginevra

Sweetheart,

You would be quite foolish to assume you could get rid of me so easily. I am Tom Riddle, remember?

Yours truly, Tom

Tommy,

And I am Ginevra Weasley. Your point being, sweetheart?

Ginevra Wealsley

Little Girl,

I have told you before and I would tell you once again. Never call me by that filthy nickname. I am not a stupid little boy you are trying to impress out there. I am Tom Riddle. It would do you well to remember what that means.

Tom Riddle

Tom,

Of course. How would I forget? The proud heir of Salazar Slytherin. You have told me hundred times already. Honestly, Tom, don't you have anything else to do?

Yours truly, Ginevra

She was getting on his nerves. She could tell that much. And she knew it probably wasn't a wise idea to anger him so much when he had an angry snake down there waiting for his every command, but she also knew he had a need for her right now. He wouldn't be bothering to chat up with an eleven-years-old little girl otherwise.

Ginevra,

In the case you are failing to remember, I am rather preoccupied inside this bloody thing at the moment. So, excuse me if I am failing to appreciate your attempt at the humor.

Now, back to the business, Ginevra. Give me the name.

Ginevra Weasley thought throughly beforehand, biting her lips quite hard before she wrote down a name that would seal down someone's fate for the good.

Tom,

Colin Creevey.

Yours only, Ginevra

II

Ginevra supposed she should feel guilty. But she found herself unable. So, what if a few mudbloods were found petrified on the school steps — they should be glad they weren't found dead, really — worse could have happened to those wankers. They could have been tortured.

Ginevra sighed heavily under her breath, slamming shut potions book with a loud thud, already feeling her brain fuzzing with an information.

"Ginevra, are you even listening to what I am saying?" Astoria Greengrass sounded greatly annoyed as she spoke, eyebrows arched high to the brow in the irritation.

"Sorry, I was deeply lost in the thought." Ginevra turned to face the brunette witch, hazel eyes meeting chocolate-brown eyes from across the Great Hall. "What did you want to tell me?"

"Whatever." Greengrass rolled her eyes in the response, waving her long brown hair dramatically over her shoulder. "Apparently, according to one and only Justin Flinch-Fletchey anyway, Potter is our newest heir of the Slytherin."

"What do you expect, Greengrass? Fletchey is a muggle-born wizard. You cannot expect one of them to have any sort of a common sense."

"True. They are all too keen to believe anything they hear. But, listen to me, apparently — Potter spoke parseltongue during the dueling class today. And you know what that usually means — so, it ain't really that unbelievable for the wanker to believe him to be the heir — I mean, even some of us are starting to question its validity, if you can even believe it."

Ginevra glared at the brunette sharply, mouth gaping open. "He spoke Parseltongue?" But that was impossible! Only the heir could speak the language, and Ginevra knew for a fact he wasn't the bloody heir. "I have to go — I'll speak with you later, alright?"

Ginevra jumped to her feet and made a ran out of the door before the other witch could even begin to speak, running through the familiar hallways of the castle hurriedly. It wasn't even five minutes before she had made it to the forbidden girls' bathroom on the third floor — Tom should have found some way to vanquish the annoying wench when he had murdered her all those years ago — dropped open the diary on the bathroom floor — Tom would have to forgive her — the words spilling out of her almost as if she was a woman possessed.

Tom,

I have a news. They are saying they have a new heir of the Slytherin. And you would never guess who they believe to be the heir.

Harry Potter.

He can speak the language and everything.

Yours, Ginevra

Ginevra,

I may not know how it had happened, but I do know how exactly we can use this particular change of events to our advantage.

Listen. Or well, rather, read very well. Tonight, have as much as people you can to believe Harry Potter is the one that's petrifying those mudbloods out there. Spread the rumor.

After all, who would stop to help out the orphaned one if almost everybody believes him to be the guilty?

Also, write somewhere else, would you? It's bloody filthy down here on the floor.

Tom

III

Ginevra,

I have a request. Head for the forbidden girls' dormitory, and try to flush me down the toilet. Or better yet, throw me at the mudblood. She has that coming with how much time she spends by pathetically wailing, don't you think, sweetheart?

Yours only, Tom

IV

Ginevra,

You are acting childish.

Tom

There was no way she was simply going to forgive Tom just like that simple because he used fancy little words to force her to forgive her. When he had asked her to lend the diary to Potter, he had promised her it would take no more than two weeks before he would be returned to her. Well, guess what? He had lied to her! She had to steal him away from Potter's wicked little clutches herself. If she hadn't, who knows how long he would have been gone? So, of course she wasn't just going to forgive him so easily.

Ginevra,

Come on, little bird. You are killing me here. Talk to me.

Tom

Riddle,

Why don't you go back to your precious little Harry, Riddle? Since you two are such a good friends?

Never Yours, Ginevra

Sweetheart,

Are you jealous?

If so, then you can rest assured he means absolutely nothing to me.

Yours truly, Tom

Riddle,

Jealous? Don't make me laugh! As if I would ever be jealous of Harry bloody Potter!

Ginevra

Little Darling,

Be reasonable. It's not even like I could have walked out of that boy's room!

Tom

Of course she knew she was being unreasonable. But if he had known he couldn't have walked out all on his own, then he shouldn't have promised her such a thing! Furiously, Ginevra threw the diary into the wall, quite content to leave it laying right there. So, what if somebody could find him? Maybe he would find somebody else to chat up with him then. Because she was done with him! If he didn't appreciate her — well, let's see how well he would do without her then, shall we? Ginevra stubbornly jumped to her feet with a loud thud and spun on her heel, stalking out of the room with tapping steps.

V

Ginevra Weasley awoke with a start, sitting up abruptly on the hospital bed. She grasped the handle of the hospital bed tightly due to the pain, the last few hours flashing before her eyes quite suddenly.

Tom was the Lord Voldemort. She should have known. Only Tom would be foolish enough to exchange his beauty for the power.

Tom was dead. Gone for the good.

"I have told you already, my darling little red bird. You won't get rid of me so easily. We are in for a long ride." Tom Riddle grasped the slight wound on her cheek, smiling at her almost affectionally.

Ginevra stared at the boy with wide disbelieving eyes before she opened her mouth to let out a low, growling sound.

"Motherfucker."