The First Page in the Diary
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters, nor he plot, of this story. It all belongs to J.K.Rowling.
The feat in the great hall was long since over, and the entire group of new students had been herded to their new rooms.
Ginny Weasley was feeling strangely alone in the five-girls dormitory. The small chit chatter of the other girls had slowly worn out as time passed, and soon Ginny was the only one awake.
Silently she climbed out of her bed and walked over to the window. For years she had treasured the quiet moments, living in a small house with up to six brothers would do that to you. But after spending the better parts of the years as an only child, home alone with her mother and father, Ginny had wondered if she'd ever bear a quiet moment. But now she realised he still favoured the night and the ease and tranquillity it brought.
After gazing silently at the star-specked sky and the shadowed school-grounds, sometimes bathed in soft light from the pale sliver of moon in the sky, she fished up a small book, a pot of ink and a quill from the trunk at the foot of her bed.
She climbed back into the bed, and pulled the curtains shut before she lighted her wand with a clever little spell her eldest brother Bill had taught her years ago. "Lumos." She fixed the wand into a neat little hole, so that the light from her wand fell at the right angle, and illuminated the book in her lap. She carefully positioned the inkpot in a fold in the blanket so that it wouldn't spill before turning to the first page of the book that would become her diary. It already said Tom M. Riddle on the front, clearly stating the previous owner of the item, but Ginny paid it little, if any, heed. Almost everything she owned was second-hand anyway, and since none of the pages had been written on, she really didn't mind.
She soaked the quill in the ink for a second before bringing it to the clean page. Dear Diary, Ginny wrote, my name is Ginny Weasley. She paused for a second, not really knowing how to continue. After a couple of seconds of pondering her gaze returned to the book, and found that her words had vanished, only to be replaced by to words written in a strong hand. Hello Ginny. Ginny felt like screaming, but held it back. With her hand trembling she lowered the quill to the paper. Who are you? She asked, even though she felt she knew witch answer would come. Tom Riddle. Was the name that appeared. Ginny was amazed. She had heard thinking journals were fairly expensive, and rarely found used. She had no idea how her father had gotten hand of it. HE hadn't even told her he'd bought her a diary, she just found it amongst her school-things after they had returned from Diagon Alley, that day her father had fought with Lucius Malfoy in Flourish and Blotts.
But Ginny soon banished the memories of that day as she began writing in the diary. She poured her heart and soul into the seemingly average book. And Tom was a kind and patient listener.
And hours later, when young Ginny Weasley had closed the book with a loving good-bye to the young man inside, she hid it inside a secret drawer in her bed. She didn't know if there were similar drawers on all of the beds, or if hers was special, but nonetheless she felt that her diary was safe there. And with that thought in mind she fell asleep, never noticing the lean character standing by the window. Had she seen him, she would have had quite the shock. At the first glance, his ruffled black hair would have had you thinking about an entirety different person, in fact, it would have had you thinking at young Ginny Weasley's crush. But there was one significant reason. Whereas her crush had wild hair that was impossible to tame, this stranger flattened his hair appropriately with only a few hand movements.
The young man was gazing at the girl in the bed. The curtains, half-heartedly pulled aside, made quite the spectacle of moonlight and shadow on her sleeping form. But he didn't have to see her; he already knew her well, better that most of the people she knew actually.
He stretched his blurry form, and realised he had been trapped in the book for a long time. Too long a time, he told himself. As he stood there, in front of the window, his unstable figure was shown trough the soft moonbeams that shone right trough him.
With a last glance at the velvety-blue sky he walked to stand next to the four-poster bed. A sad smile captured his lips for a moment, before it vanished like an unworthy memory. He needed this girl for very specific reasons, she would only be the first among many dead, he told himself. But still a cold claw grasped at his hears. For she was so innocent, so pure, and she had willingly given him her heart and soul. No one had done that before her. She was not yet wronged in life, and now he would go ahead and do what nobody should ever do against her.
With a soft smile he leaned forwards, shifting the curtain with one hand, and carefully removed a lock of fiery-red hair, so that it would not disturb her sleep. Though, to any on-lookers it would only look like a playful breeze swept trough the room --- from a closed window.
Fin