Ginny Weasley
Hello, Ginny Weasley.
Hello?
. . . Hello? Ginny Weasley?
Hello?
Hi.
Fred? George?
Who?
Don't play dumb.
I am afraid I do not know what you are talking about.
I know it's you two. Is this your way of trying to get me back after the Dungbomb thing from dinner a week ago? By slipping an empty diary into my books and hoping I'll write my deepest, darkest secrets inside it? Well, SUCK IT—that's not happening, and as soon as I finish writing this, I'm gonna go downstairs and tell Mum—
I really do not—
—about your secret stash of potatoes that you've been stealing from the kitchen for whatever prank you're planning next. Yeah, I know about that—I saw George sneaking downstairs a few nights ago and stuffing his pockets with them. But anyways, this is actually kind of cool—I've never seen or heard of diaries that can respond to people. How'd you enchant this one to do it? I'll pay you both the two Galleons I stole from Ron yesterday to show me the spell. Merlin, I can totally get that git Zacharias Smith—the idiot I met in Zonko's today who swiped my pumpkin juice and tried to chug it all in one go—to admit a bunch of secrets once school starts. He's definitely dumb enough to pick up a random replying diary and begin spilling his heart out to it.
I sincerely do not know who Fred and George are, but—
Wait, are these responses even real? Great, I feel stupid now—I bet you two aren't even actually responding to me right now and it's all just automatic from whatever enchantment's on here. Hang on. . . . Okay, if you two are reading this, what was the big thing that happened during the party Mum and Dad threw for both of you for your ninth birthdays?
Really, I am neither Fred or George. My name is Tom.
And I'm Celestina Warbeck. At least try to fool me with a more creative name—Tom is the most basic name ever.
Nobody is trying to fool you, Ginny. My name is Tom Riddle. It corresponds to the "T. M. Riddle" at the top of this page that you crossed out earlier before writing your own name below it. I was a student at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the 1940s, and this was my diary—I am not sure how you came to be in possession of it, though.
Wha—seriously? How is this possible?
A complex bit of magic, which I say in the most unostentatious way possible. This diary was a personal side project of mine that I worked on throughout my fifth year—slowly weaving spells and magic into it until it could retain an exact replica of my personality and exude it through writing. This diary isn't sentient, of course, but merely a copy of sixteen-year-old me on paper. I promise you, I am not Fred and George.
I. . . . Wow. Yeah, I believe you. Fred and George can't even spell unostentatious and probably don't know what it means. I don't know what that means. Is that even a real word?
Yes. It means the opposite of showy and pretentious.
Um. . . . What's pretentious?
Showy.
Oh. Right. Yeah, that makes sense. Merlin, I can't believe I'm conversing with a diary. This is so cool! What's the deal with the disappearing ink?
I charmed the ink to fade so that the diary will never run out of space for words when in conversation with someone.
Can I show you to my frien—
And never show me to anyone else or tell anyone else about me. This diary is illegally-enchanted—I used a plethora of forbidden magic to spell it into what it is now. If it is discovered, then not only will it be confiscated, but you could face discipline as well for having not turned me in as soon as you found me. In fact, this diary should have never fallen into anybody's hands. How did you find it?
—Okay, nevermind. It was stuffed inside a schoolbook I bought today from Diagon Alley. I dunno how it got there though.
How strange. Luckily it was you who found it and not a Ministry official. Since you mention schoolbooks from Diagon Alley, I assume you are a student at Hogwarts?
I'm entering, actually. The school year hasn't started yet—September 1st is in two weeks, so I'll be a first-year then. You know, it'll be the 1992-1993 school year. Isn't that insane? If you went to school in the 1940s, that means you're basically fifty years older than me. Wait, doesn't that mean you're probably still alive? The real you?
Unfortunately, no. I was getting to this part. You see, I charmed this diary to only activate if I die so that my legacy can live on through it. As you are currently writing in here and I am replying back to you, then the living me must have passed away. Do not try looking for or into me.
Oh, that's too bad. Um, do I say "I'm sorry" or something now? I'm not really sure how to deal with a kind of–living diary person who just found out that real-life him died. Are you in mourning? Do you even have feelings?
Thank you, but there is no need to worry about me. It is unfortunate that my living counterpart is dead, but it gave way to the dormant magic of this diary activating, so I cannot be completely upset. But enough about me—tell me more about you, Ginny. How are you feeling now that you are close to starting at Hogwarts?
Sooooo nervous. SOOOOO NERVOUS. I'm excited, of course, but it's so much more nerve wracking to think about! I used to look forward to the day I turned eleven so I could go to Hogwarts, but now I'm just anxious. You know, I've never stayed overnight anywhere but in my own home! I probably won't be able to sleep the first week. And what if I don't make any friends? I don't get how some people can just go up to others and make friends right away.
If you would like, Ginny, you could bring me along with you and write to me whenever you feel nervous or lonely. I can be your friend.
Really? Are you being serious? Or are you just saying that because you're pitying me?
No, truly. I would not mind at all. In fact, it is nice to be able to converse with someone after so many years. I would like to keep talking to you.
Well, in that case. . . . I will! Oh Tom, thank you! You have no idea how much stress was just lifted off my shoulders! I was so nervous that I'd get lonely at school and wouldn't make any friends and would have no one to talk to because the only people I know are my brothers and some of their friends and they're all older than me and in different classes so if I don't make any new friends in my year then I won't have anyone to really talk to and I can be shy at first but I have so much to say!
Clearly.
Ha-ha, funny. But really, thanks. I can't wait to tell you all about my first day at school! Also, if you were curious about what the big thing that happened during the party Mum and Dad threw for Fred and George—they're two of my brothers if you haven't realized that by now—for their ninth birthdays, it was that they sabotaged their own cake and injected it with Babbling Beverage before serving the first slice to our crabby Auntie Muriel—she's a horror—and causing her to jabber for a whole hour afterwards about a lot things I wish I'd never heard. She never came over again.
That . . . is interesting. Fred and George sound like quite the pranksters. I do not mean to digress, but who is Celestina Warbeck? You sarcastically mentioned her a few minutes ago, and I do not think I know who she is.
Oh, just this singer my mum's obsessed with. Dunno why—she sounds like a croaking vulture when she sings. . . .
— — — — —
*Author's note: I'm still writing Parallel of course, but I thought I'd start this fun little fic and write for it whenever I want to write something that's a bit more lighthearted (unless this somehow leads into an actual plot. . . .).