Dear Diary
(a/n: this fic might not be very clear because it is sprinkled with flasbacks, but they are entries in the diary Horcrux. Tom is in bold, Ginny is in italics. R&R!)
Hello, my name is Ginny Weasley.
Hello, Ginny Weasley, my name is Tom Riddle.
It's strange how human beings, both magic and nonmagic, are so fascinated by the dark shadows in life. Sex, drugs, crime, war; hey, not for nothing, so-called 'witchcraft' among some Muggles.
I was so innocent when I opened that little book for the first time. I was too blind to figure how it had come into my possession. Too naïve to suspect anything. Too entranced to put it down. Too stupid to tell dad the first time my diary wrote back. In my defense, what new Hogwarts student would be worried about a book that writes back once they've seen talking portraits, moving staircases and carriages pulled by (what seemed to be) thin air. Yet, I'll admit that at eleven I was many things, smart not necessarily being one of them.
So, what are you, Tom Riddle?
I was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Were you really? I'm there right now! Oh, what was your house?
When I was in school I belonged to the house of Salazar Slytherin.
Oh. Well, I'm a Gryffindor. I was just Sorted a couple of hours ago!
Congratulations, Ginny Weasley!
Just call me Ginny.
Only if you agree to just call me Tom.
It's a deal.
Finally, for the first time in weeks I am totally alone. What a relief it is. Even the people you love most in the entire world can drive you utterly mental if they never leave you alone.
Savoring the solitary stillness and the quiet, something I have all but forgotten, I look into the full-length mirror. I am wearing just a slip and I am no longer the Ginny that Tom knew years ago. My hair is thicker, longer and darker than the annoying carrot-red it used to be and it falls loose around my bare freckled shoulders. My eyes are no longer the wide, trusting, enchanted eyes of a little girl, easily bewitched by colors and words. They now are keen and do not give confidence away as sparingly as they did once.
Neither do I.
Sorry I haven't been writing to you, Tom, I've had quite a week.
Tell me about it. I daresay it must be more exciting than your trunk.
Sorry about that. Anyway, do you know why no one ever mentions how difficult classes are here? People are always so busy saying how great Hogwarts is that they leave that out!
A truthful observation, Ginny. I'm more that happy to help you with your homework; I was top of my class in my schooldays.
Were you a Prefect?
Yes, I was. In fact, when my Seventh Year came I was made Head Boy.
My older brother, Percy, is a Prefect. And a right prat about it, too.
That's a pity. Does Percy share your house?
Yes, all my brothers are in Gryffindor like I am.
How many brothers might you have?
Oh, I have six. Bill and Charlie graduated already. Bill is in Egypt and Charlie is in Romania. Percy's a prat, as I said, always bossing people around and telling us all off for breaking rules. If not than he's studying. He treats me better than the twins do, but that isn't saying a lot.
The twins?
Fred and George. They're not bad blokes, I suppose, but they're always playing practical jokes, getting into trouble and giving Ron and me a hard time. They just jinxed my quill before I went into Transfiguration, so that it wrote swearwords instead what I wanted to say.
Well, that's not dreadfully funny at all. They could've gotten you into serious trouble!
I doubt they'd lose sleep over it. And Ron thought it was funny when I told him.
Ron?
He's my brother, too. He's a Second Year. We get on pretty well but he's usually too busy going on adventures with Harry and Hermione to really be of much help.
Harry and Hermione?
His best mates. Hermione is this know-it-all Muggleborn who's rather nice to me and Harry Potter. You know who he is, don't you?
I'm afraid he came after my time.
Merlin's Beard, Tom, you've got so much to learn!!
Will you tell me then?
About Harry? Absolutely!!
I shut my eyes and lean my head back so that my face is parallel with the ceiling. The years have sure flown. I never dreamed (well, okay, I dreamed it) that I would be here today. But, hey, here I am. I smile, so dreams can come true…
Tom, tomorrow's Valentine's Day!
Happy Valentine's Day, Ginny!
Thanks, but that's not why I told you. I need you to help me.
As you wish, Mistress.
Can you write a decent poem?
A poem? Why do you want me to write a poem?
For Valentine's Day, you stupid prat!
If you want to get any poems, I suggest not calling guys stupid prats. Its not bound to make a terribly good impression.
Not for me, Tom, for Harry!
You want me to write a Valentine to the boy you fancy? That is both exceedingly strange and rather cruel! Do you seek to bring me heartbreak?
Aren't you funny…I don't really want you to write it, I just want you to give me a hand writing it.
Very well. Well, this is a love poem, is it not? What color are Harry's eyes?
Oh, Tom, they're the loveliest green! All bright and vivid like a little piece of springtime!
Or a fresh-pickled toad?
Precisely!
Okay, his eyes are as green as a fresh-pickled toad. How shou—
That's great as it is! You know, don't want to overdo it.
Of course not. What color is his hair?
Black.
His hair is as dark as a blackboard. Not too overdone, I hope.
No, that's perfect.
Tell me more about Harry.
Well, I told you he destroyed You-Know-Who and he's just wonderful! He's smart and nice and real good at Quidditch and just DIVINE!!
He's really divine, I wish he was mine…?
You're really good at this, Tom! Oh…he's so brave, too…
How about just ending with 'the hero who conquered the Dark Lord'?
Blimey, Tom, I didn't think you could write a poem so fast! My, if you weren't dead…
If I wasn't dead…?
I'd be writing you Valentines instead of Harry.
You cannot compare me to the 'hero who conquered the Dark Lord', Ginny! Besides, I'm a Slytherin!
I don't care about your house!
And what if I was Slytherin's own heir?
Mum sticks her head in and she's all smiles, "Hello sweetie," she says, "How are you feeling?"
"Nervous," I say although I've never felt more serene in my entire life.
"Oh, that's natural, hon." She assures me, in a very mum-ish way.
Tom, do you reckon I ought to be more worried about these blackouts? Maybe I should go to the hospital wing…
I'm sure its just stress. You need to get more sleep.
What about those feathers that were on me? And the red paint? It isn't normal to have gaps in your memory the way that I do.
Don't worry, Ginny, soon the attacks will stop and you wont be so stressed. They'll catch the heir like they did when I was in school.
What if It's Harry?
Why would Salazar Slytherin's heir be a Gryffindor?
Dunno. But he's a Parselmouth and he's been practically caught red-handed twice.
Do you think he is guilty?
Of course I don't! I love him!
I thought you said you loved me, Ginny! Why are you toying with me?
Toying with you?
I can't lie anymore, Ginny! I've fallen in love with you! I want you, Ginny, in ways you cannot yet understand…
Are you calling me stupid? I'm not stupid!
I know that, my love, your wit is one of the traits that I so adore about you.
Then you're looking down your nose at me!
Trust me, darling, my wish is not to be condescending. But you are yet a child.
I AM NOT!
Then give me what I desire. You know what it is.
Instead I just tried to throw away my problems. I tried to flush him down a bloody toilet, to the dismay of Moaning Myrtle. Neither the ghost nor I knew the significance of the lavatory. I shudder and try to suppress these horrid memories; today is supposed to be a happy day.
Hello, Tom. Did you tell Harry anything, because if you did I'll flush you again!
I missed you too, my love.
Quit calling me that or I swear I'll throw you in the Common Room fire or drop you off the Astronomy Tower!
Hell hath no fury like a woman's scorn.
What is that supposed to mean?
I love you, Ginny. Can you not love me but a little?
YOU'RE DEAD!
We're all a bit in love with death, Ginny.
Yuck! What sort of a thing to say is that!
It is the truth.
Tom, tell me the truth; do you know who the heir of Slytherin is? Do you know who it was when you were still a student here?
I have told you this already; Rubeus Hagrid.
It wasn't Hagrid, Tom. But I reckon you're too proud to admit you lied anyway. But do you know who it is this time?
I know only what you write in this diary, Ginny.
Oh, right…
But I do know who is opening the Chamber of Secrets and attacking students.
Who is it, Tom? Who is it, you've got to tell me!
You.
No one would ever know that Tom told me that. When I attempted to tell Ron and Harry, I knew it was me, I was positive. I never would tell anyone. Why should I? The Basilisk was slain when Harry pulled me from the clutches of Death like in my schoolgirl reveries. The diary was destroyed and years later revealed as a Horcrux. I shudder. I held a piece of Voldemort's soul in my hands, slept with it beside my bed, told it my secrets, let it help me with homework…But that doesn't matter anymore. The diary was obliterated as were all the Horcruxes. Voldemort was gone and all remnants of Tom Marvolo Riddle were gone along with him.
Why am I thinking about this now? As I gaze at the white dress, I am not nervous as you may expect me to be. I am not like most brides; I'm very tranquil. You see, ever since I woke from what ought to have been my final sleep and saw Harry, my hero, I knew we would end up together. I believed it and I knew it was just a matter of time. The waiting was the most difficult part.
I put on the dress and look into the mirror again. No, I'm not the child that Tom knew and manipulated. I'm a grown woman and I'm strong and happy and…I'm getting married!
Women seem to always be discussing weddings, but they never mention how quickly they go by. Soon, I am walking down the aisle, arm-in-arm with dad who looks fit to cry a river. Harry's hair is messy. It is the first thing I notice about his appearance. Then again, he wouldn't look like Harry at all if his hair were behaving. That must've been his reasoning as well. He looks so anxious, it's adorable. As dad gives me to Harry officially as he did years ago without all this hubbub, I look into the eyes I described to Tom years prior. Eyes as green as a fresh-pickled toad.
Harry smiles nervously and takes both my hands into his. They are clammy and shaking. Eager for reassurance like his beautiful eyes. I smile at him and he relaxes. Then smiles back. And I love him. I've always loved him…All my doubts evaporate like salty ocean mist vanishing from a green and white shore.
Tom was wrong, or partially, I'm not in love with death.
In this instance, as Harry and I are bound together formally as we were spiritually when he risked his life to save me from the monster that had ruined and ended so many lives, I am not in love with death but passionately, sincerely and happily in love with life. And finally…after years of him haunting the corners of my being, Tom is gone completely, his memory purified and hence ended by Harry and the true love we share.