Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns the Harry Potter universe, its plot, and all its characters

"No, Ginny, you can't come with us," Ron drawled exasperatedly. "Harry is my friend; he doesn't want to hang out with a little brat like you." Rolling his eyes, Ron bounded up the stairs to his room to join his famous friend.

Ginny huffed and turned the other way, stomping out to the garden and sitting on the porch step. Tears threatened to spill over, but she angrily held them back. It was no use—tears hadn't helped her in the past, so why would they now?

Ginny was lonely. It was a ridiculous notion, having grown up with six siblings, but that was just it—they were all she had. The Weasleys didn't have any neighbors she could play with, so she didn't really have any friends. Maybe it would have been different if at least one of her siblings had been a girl. What would it have been like to have a sister? Would they have been friends? Or would she have been just like all of Ginny's brothers?

He brothers weren't all bad, she supposed. She didn't see much of Bill or Charlie, but they always brought her back presents when they visited. But they were much older than she was, and she usually had trouble following their conversations with their parents. Percy was a pain in the arse—something all the siblings agreed on. He thought too highly of himself to spend any time with her. Fred and George were easily her favorite brothers. They ruffled her hair and conspired with her against Percy and Ron, but they made sure she never got in trouble with Mum. But Fred and George were each other's best friend, and so she was left out of their adventures as often as she was included. Ron was much like Percy in the sense that he thought he was too good to play with Ginny. It was obvious that he thought she was annoying, but she stood by the fact that he was worse. Especially now that he was friends with a celebrity.

Ginny was so caught up in her musings that she didn't notice her mother sit down next to her. "Are you alright, Gin?" she asked softly. Ginny looked up into her mum's warm eyes, and, words failing her, just shook her head. Mrs. Weasley wrapped an arm around her daughter's shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze. "Anything I can do?"

Ginny sighed and shook her head again, leaning into her mother's side. "Nothing will make Ron less of an annoying berk."

Ginny could feel her mother chuckle at her side. "It's the curse of being a boy, darling." Ginny allowed her lips to be pulled into a small grin. "But that's not what this is really about, is it?"

After eleven years, Ginny was still surprised by her mother's wisdom and insight. "No," she admitted with a sigh. "It's just—I don't have any friends. I mean, I have you and Dad and all the boys, but I don't have any real friends for myself."

Mrs. Weasley pulled Ginny in tighter. "Oh, pumpkin. I'm so sorry. I wish we lived closer to children your age. But look here," she continued, pulling away to look Ginny in the eyes. "You'll make loads of friends at Hogwarts. You're such a lovely, fun girl, there's no way you won't. And if anyone gives you any trouble," she said, glancing around conspiratorially, "tell Fred and George that I give them full permission to torment them."

"Even if it's Ron?"

"Especially if it's Ron."

Ginny giggled and hugged her mother tightly. "Thanks, Mum." Mrs. Weasley pressed a kiss to the top of her daughter's head. "I'm going to go look through my books to see what kinds of things I'll be learning this year!"

Ginny hopped up and bounded through the house up to her room. She found her bag full of books in the corner of the room and upended them onto her bed. She sifted through them, separating them by subject: Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, The Dark forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, A Beginner's Guide to Transfiguration—Ginny stopped. Among all her school books was one she did not recognize. It wasn't a textbook; it looked rather like a journal or diary. It was plain back leather, but Ginny thought it was elegant just the same. Had her parents bought it for her as a present? They were truly wonderful—even though it was a squeeze to afford such gifts, her parents made the sacrifice anyway.

Ginny fetched a quill and inkpot, and sat down on the floor with the diary. She opened it to the first page, wondering how to start. Finally she decided that she should introduce herself. It was a silly idea, but she indulged herself anyway. Dear Diary, she wrote. My name is Ginny Weasley.

As she pondered what to write next—something along the lines of 'My brother Ron is a bit of a knob'—the ink disappeared into the page. Ginny watched, transfixed, as more words replaced her own.

Hello, Ginny, it said. My name is Tom Riddle.

Ginny glanced around to see if anyone else saw, but of course she was alone in her room. Breathing hard, she responded, How are you doing this?

Her words faded, and a few moments later, elegant script read, This is my diary. Ginny thought about that for a moment, wondering how that could possibly work, but then again, magic still confused her a bit. Just because she had never heard of something like this before did not mean it was impossible.

Tom's words melted away, but more came quickly. Would you like to be my friend?

Ginny stared at the page for a long time. It remained blank. Was it a good idea to become friends with an inanimate object? Did the diary count as an inanimate object? She had asked for a friend, and here she was presented with an opportunity. Ginny didn't see the harm. After all, if something went wrong—though she couldn't imagine how a diary could harm anyone—she could just throw it out or burn it. So, dipping her quill in ink, she wrote very deliberately on the blank page, Yes.