It took Lucy a whopping two days before boredom sent her spiraling into madness.
She didn't remember Wool's Orphanage always being so dull. She had tried every trick in the book— leaving frogs in Jennifer's bed, stealing plants from the greenhouse, stealing all the spoons from the kitchen, at one point she stole everybody's pillowcases. The staff reacted in such a boring way. Mrs. Cole would have chased her down the hallways with a broom, but the new staff didn't even seem to notice that Lucy was doing these things. They simply replaced any missing goods, comforted the children she terrorized, and moved on with their lives. Lucy was quite certain they didn't even know she existed.
Nathan was nice to talk to, but he didn't have the heart of a prankster. He worried too much about causing trouble and his new girlfriend but-not-technically-his-girlfriend, Emma, would never dream of getting into mischief. This left Lucy to her own devices.
She was so bored that she actually started doing her homework. Two days into summer, and she started her homework. She was absolutely disgusted with herself.
"Life sucks, so so much, I'd rather be spying on Voldemort," Lucy sang to herself as she thumbed through her old History of Magic textbook. The subject was so much more interesting without Professor Binns reading from it. That man's voice could put a dragon to sleep. "Flippity-Fluff, life sucks, Voldy-mort sucks so much!"
She finished and then looked at Grayble expectantly. The cat shot her an unimpressed look and buried his face into her pillow. She frowned. "Git," she muttered. She slammed her textbook shut and screamed into her hands. "Ohhh my god I'm so bored Grayble! I'm going to go insane!"
Grayble let out a huffing sound and deigned to get up. He sulked over to her bedside table and jumped on it, knocking her new diary off in the process. He jumped off the table and then curled up in the corner, glaring at her all the while.
"Fine, I get the hint, I'll stop talking to you," Lucy said with a roll of her eyes. "Geez, Graybie, when did you get so sassy?"
Obviously, the cat didn't answer. Lucy's eyes turned over to the diary. Well, if she wasn't going to get any schoolwork done, she might as well write for a bit and see where that takes her. Who knows, maybe she'd discover something new about herself. Maybe she'd get bored and draw Snape as a troll, who knows? She picked the diary up off the floor then grabbed her quill, moving over to her desk.
She began writing:
This mystery journal of secrets belongs to one Lucille Eve Gina Esmee Naomi Diana Eleine Rochester. In the event that this beautiful bastard of a girl dies of boredom, she would like to note that this happened because the world is evil and cruel and sent her from a beautiful place named Hogwarts to a horrible, boring, dirty, evil, boring, disgusting, plain, boring, place known as Wool's Orphanage. Did I mention it was boring? Because it's boring.
Lucy smiled proudly at her introduction. Hey, maybe writing was her thing—
Oh, and the ink disappeared.
Lucy screamed into her hands again. She was ready to pelt this stupid joke diary at the wall when to her surprise, new text appeared, in a very different, neater style of handwriting. She would almost call it calligraphy.
That's quite the introduction, Lucille.
What the fuuuuuu
Oh— sorry. My name is Tom Riddle. I used to own this diary.
Lucy's jaw dropped, remembering what Mrs. Cole told her about him. What are the odds, that the one other person who attended Hogwarts from Wool's Orphanage was the same person whose diary she got? She could feel her heart rate picking up from excitement. That hadn't happened in a whole two days. Life was amazing!
Huh, Mrs Cole told me about you. She said you were an unruly child and there was something wrong about you. Her words not mine.
I'm not surprised. She and I didn't get along. Sorry, did you say you were at Wool's Orphanage? That's a surprising coincidence. How'd you get my diary?
She imagined a prim and posh voice when she read Tom Riddle's writing, but she couldn't help grinning at the text. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so boring after all. Finding a mystery journal in her bag that wrote back to her was the best way to pass the time.
I found it at the bottom of my bag. Could've picked it up somewhere, but that seems unlikely, which makes me think someone PUT it in there! Could this be— gasp— a MYSTERY?
It took Riddle a second to reply.
Hm. Maybe someone wanted us to meet. It's likely, seeing as we're both from Wool's. Let's get to know each other, Lucille. Tell me about yourself.
She rolled her eyes. Lame! She wanted some dirty secrets about the past.
Hold up, you're still a weird journal I just found. How about you go first. How come you're talking, even if this was your diary? I'll warn you, I'm great at detecting lies.
That was a bluff. There was no way she'd be able to tell if Riddle lied to her, but she hoped he believed her.
I guess that's fair. I used this diary throughout my years at Hogwarts. In my fifth year I cast a spell to preserve my memories, in a way. You could call the person you're talking to the sixteen year old version of myself— I'm quite human, you know.
Humans usually don't have to say that they're human, but you know what, I believe you, Tom Riddle.
Thankfully. Suspicion is rather boring. So, tell me about yourself— I have a right to be suspicious, too. How do I know you're really from Wool's Orphanage, and you're not posing as someone else to extract my secrets?
She wanted to ask what kind of secrets, but that seemed sort of redundant. She supposed that someone who went through all the effort to immortalize their self in a diary had to know some good information, and they'd have to be quite powerful. She decided to humor the journal... it's not like she had anything else to do.
You win. I'm Lucille, but everyone calls me Lucy. Technically my name's not Rochester— I was dropped off at Wool's when I was a baby. No note except for a slip of paper saying my name was Lucille. I don't really know how to prove that I've been at Wool's other than how bloody BORING! this place is, so yeah. Two days into summer and I want to DIE.
Hm, that's interesting. And you don't know who your parents are?
Haven't a clue. What about you? How'd you end up at Wool's?
Riddle didn't answer for a good ten seconds. She took it as him debating whether or not he would tell her anything. That, or the journal was a randomized system giving her garbage answers. Either way, she was entertained.
Her name was Merope. She died giving birth to me. She was a witch.
Least you knew who she was, right?
I suppose. What house are you in? And year. You sound quite young.
Okay, ouch. But also, he made a valid point. She was sort of writing like a fool, but that was the fun part. She could sound as stupid as she wanted, and he couldn't do anything about it because he was a journal. Life was great.
I'm in Hufflepuff. Going to be in my second year. And I like to think that I'm at least a little mature— I mean I saw a man die last year! So, brownie points for me. Or morbid points. Really, you can decide.
Riddle wrote back quickly this time. A man died? You can't just leave the story there, it'd be barbaric.
Yeah, so this is what happened: my best friend Harry was at this Quidditch match, right? He's the seeker, brilliant at it, I'm so proud of him—
How is this related to you seeing a man die?
Well if you'd let me set up the EXPOSITION.
I'm so incredibly sorry. Please. Continue telling me about a sport of which I care nothing about.
Lucy snorted. Sarcastic bastard.
Right, so, Harry— great seeker, all that. There's this other Professor. Quirrell, right?
You act as if I'll know the people you're talking about.
LISTEN, Riddle, I'm only pausing because my little wrist hurts, okay? Just keep quiet unless you have something to SAY.
Riddle didn't answer. Now she felt a little bad.
Okay I'm sorry that was really mean.
It's fine. Just keep going, I won't interrupt. Probably.
So Quirrell had this way, over the top stutter. I always had a bad feeling about him— and during this match, Harry's broom started bucking, like it was trying to throw him off. My friends and I looked through binoculars and we saw both Quirrell and this other Professor, Snape, a Grade O Git, mouthing words, not breaking a stare. So what I'm saying is Quirrell was definitely hexing Harry.
Why would they bother trying to kill a first year boy? Sounds a little far-fetched.
Well, Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived. When he was a baby, Lord Voldemort tried to absolutely murder him. No one knows why. Didn't work, no one knows why, and Voldemort was vanquished from the Earth. He's not dead, just sort of lurking in between, I guess.
The silence that followed was absolutely unnerving. Lucy stared cautiously at the journal; she felt like she upset Riddle somehow, which was odd. How could a journal be upset?
I... see. And this Potter boy, plays into this how?
Well to make a long story short, Voldemort attached himself to Quirrell's soul, and he was camping out in the back of Quirrell's head. He covered it up with a turban. I heckled Quirrell one too many times and he cornered me, then told me I had to help him with his plans. I did- he taught me loads of spells and information. I think Voldemort liked me. You know, not trying to BRAG or anything.
She was totally bragging. Hey, the man may be a terrifying Dark Lord, but she had the right to say that he was fond of her.
This Lord Voldemort liked you?
Well, he never tried to kill me. Quirrell did— Voldemort told him not to though and told him to let me help. Why? Did you know about Voldemort? You sound unfamiliar with him.
What year is it for you, Lucy? He wasn't around in the 1940s, but he sounds like an interesting character.
1992. And he was definitely interesting. I saw his face one time— he didn't have a nose. Although to be fair, he was also on the back of Quirrell's head so I don't think he had much of a chance for cosmetics.
I have no idea how to reply to that, Lucy. So you saw Quirrell die? Did Voldemort die, too?
No, definitely not. He turned to vapor and zoomed away. He's out there, somewhere. Whatever, as long as he won't kill me, I'm fine.
I'm sure he won't, Lucy... Enough about Voldemort, for now. What's your favorite color?
Lucy spent the next month alternating between doing schoolwork, hanging out with Nathan, and writing in her diary. She actually managed to finish her homework in the first few week, which left her with no other option but to write in her diary. Her friends sent her letters— which she loved dearly, and always replied to— but she was missing a certain someone who hadn't sent her anything. Harry had yet to send her a letter, and while she was disappointed, she figured there had to be some reason. Maybe the Muggles locked his owl away or kept his mail from him. From what Ron and Hermione told her, he hadn't replied to their letters either.
She also found that it was hard to keep from talking to Tom Riddle. Which he wasn't very friendly, he knew lots of spells and tricks to becoming a better wizard. And on rare occasions she managed to get a little gossip about his old schoolmates out of him. Of course, he'd write maturely using elegant words, but she knew full well what he meant. "Abraxas Malfoy had an unfortunate struggle with keeping his voice at an acceptable volume" was easily translated to "Malfoy was a stupid loudmouth".
She kept the diary's cover flipped open at all times. Whenever Riddle got bored, he'd write in it and keep the ink on the page, so whenever Lucy saw it she knew he was open to talk. She was less interested in talking about herself— which she had a feeling annoyed him— and wanted to know more about what Hogwarts was like back then, and what kind of spells he knew.
I'm not your damned glossary, Lucy! Do your own homework! He'd yelled at her once. She didn't listen to him; she started asking him questions more often. Eventually he caved in and found it easier to just tell her what she wanted to know. What good was a magic diary if he didn't give her any homework answers?
Harry's birthday was coming up, and he still had yet to answer her. She decided she had enough of waiting around at Wool's, and she came up with a plan.
I'm going to intrude on Harry's life and visit him! she declared to Riddle one blazing hot morning. She kept the windows wide open, but it didn't help much. Of course her muggle residence wouldn't have any air conditioning.
Riddle answered her immediately. No. That's a terrible idea; you'll get lost and maybe mugged.
I don't care! This boredom is shattering my skull. It's about to be the end of July. Only one more month of summer left. If I don't do something exciting, I may just lose it.
So your plan to keep yourself from dying of boredom is to die of something even more dangerous, Riddle said sarcastically.
Yep!
Ugh, well if you're that set on going, then bring the diary with. I know my way around London.
What if the inferstructure changed?
Lucy noted with amusement that she had spelled 'infrastructure' wrong, and Riddle had crossed it out and written the correct spelling above it. He always did that; he reminded her of a professor at times.
Please, the British would never stop preserving their city. Bring your wand with you. Check in every five minutes so I know you're going the right way.
Awww, is someone worried about their best friend?
She couldn't help but tease him. She knew it would annoy him— Riddle resented any 'mushy feelings'. At least, he hated expressing them; he used to try and pry real emotions from Lucy until she basically told him to stuff it, or else she'd close the book forever. She did not want to spill her guts out to a mysterious journal, as entertaining as it might be.
More like I don't want to waste away in the Thames when you die.
You're cold-hearted, Riddle. But yeah, I'll check in, have some faith in me. I'm not a COMPLETE idiot!
Time will tell.
"Time will tell," Lucy mimicked out loud. She didn't bother with her backpack- that was surefire way to get mugged. She tucked her wand into her skirt pocket and held her diary in arm, pen clipped to her shirt as she went on her way. She made sure to lock her door behind her. She didn't think any staff would be amused by her cauldron or wizarding text-books.
Nathan caught sight of her walking through the halls. He was sitting with Emma in the common area, and he waved at her. She smiled and waved back. Unfortunately, Jennifer was there too and she snickered when she saw Lucy wave at Nathan.
"Waving at your crush, Lucy? He'd never like you," Jennifer scoffed.
Lucy smiled at her pleasantly. "I will eat your heart out of your chest, Courtney."
Jennifer didn't have a proper response to that.
She kept going, right out the front door to Wool's. She was honestly surprised that no staff tried to stop her. Then again, they didn't know she existed.
With Riddle's help, she managed to navigate her way to the train station, which brought her to a place close enough to Harry's address. The sun was certainly blazing hot and she found herself parched as she continued to walk. No matter— she'd make it there eventually.
And she did make it there. She came across a park in a neat little neighborhood, where she saw her favorite green-eyed boy sitting in a swing, looking absolutely bored with life. She knew that look all too well. She quickly scrawled to Riddle that she'd arrived and then moved her diary to her other arm.
She then crept up behind Harry. He swung, unaware, and then she clamped her hands down on his shoulders yelling, "BOO!"
Harry yelped and jumped out of the swing, crashing to the ground in an ungraceful pile. He turned to give Lucy an absolutely bewildered look. "Lucy? Lucy, what the — what are you doing here?!"
"I missed you," she shrugged.
His shocked look slid away, and then he started laughing, pushing himself up from the ground. He gave her a hug, "I can't believe you came all this way. Don't you live in London?"
"It's not that far away," Lucy shrugged. "Sneaking onto trains is a lovely business. Anyway— why haven't you written me at all, you git? You haven't replied to Ron or Hermione either!"
"What do you mean?" Harry looked genuinely confused. "Hedwig's been locked up. None of you lot has sent me a letter."
She shook her head. "Ron and Hermione have sent you loads of letters. I would have sent you one but, well, I don't exactly have an owl at the moment."
He nodded in understanding, before something occured to him. He beamed at Lucy and said, "Do you think you could take Hedwig for me?!"
He said it so excitedly that it took Lucy aback. Harry loved his owl— he treated her like a princess. "Take Hedwig? Why? Don't you want her?"
"Not forever," he said hastily. "But, the Dursleys have got her locked up, and I'd rather have her somewhere where she can stretch her wings. Is it too much trouble?"
Please, it wasn't enough trouble. If Wool's staff hadn't batted an eye when she turned all the furniture upside down, they wouldn't care if she brought back a snowy owl. She smiled at Harry. "It's none at all, Harry. D'You think the Muggles will let her out so I can take her?"
"As long as I make it seem like you're taking her forever. Just don't let them think you're a witch, all right? Maybe bring up Uncle Vernon's drilling company, too. He's meeting with a Mr. Mason soon, something about a business deal. I don't know if that'll help you any."
"Oh, I'm sure I'll think of something," Lucy grinned. Finally, she could put her acting skills to the test. She thought they'd been rather sharpened around Quirrell, if she did say so herself.
She followed Harry all the way to his house. It amazed her, how alike and neat the houses looked. It was almost despicable. It made her want to mess it up. Alas, she knew she had to keep it together to rescue Hedwig.
Harry entered the house and called out to his Aunt Petunia, who he figured was the most likely candidate to allow Hedwig to leave. Lucy watched from the doorway in awe as a tall, giraffe-necked woman stalked into the room, glowering at Harry.
"What?" Petunia snapped. She noticed Lucy in the doorway and grew more suspicious. "Who's this you've brought?" She looked like she wanted to add a witch? But refrained, on account of how mugglish Lucy looked. She was wearing a normal yellow top and skirt, along with her sneakers. Good for the hot weather, not exactly wizarding clothes.
"This is Lucy, she's from my primary school," Harry said, putting emphasis on primary school. Petunia's sharp gaze lessened slightly. "She's really into animals, y'know, and when I told her some madman gave me an owl I don't know how to take care of, she said she'd take her off my hands."
Lucy gave Petunia her best wide-eyed, innocent look. "It'd really be an honor, ma'am, to take care of this bird. My uncle owns a zoo— if it's not too much trouble for you, of course. I can tell you're the gracious sort, ma'am, and it'd pain me to take away an animal you care about."
She could see Petunia puffing up at the praise. She gave Lucy what she supposed was a gracious smile. "Oh, dear, it's no problem," she simpered.
"Your nephew's told me wonderful things about you all. My father's particularly interested in the sort of drills you sell," she added kindly. "Mr. Mason. He's a little shy to talk about me, you see, since he's so rich. I'm so glad Harry's related to you. He's such a considerate boy."
She could see the money-signs in Petunia's eyes. "Of course, dear, of course. Mr. Mason is a wonderful man," Petunia said quickly. "Please, come in. Boy- Harry, I mean- why don't you get that bird of yours for Lucy here?"
"Of course, Aunt Petunia." As Harry headed up the stairs, he winked at her. Lucy's innocent smile twitched into a smirk for a split second. Too quickly for Petunia to notice.
"This is such a wonderful house you have, Mrs. Dursley. I wonder, how do you keep it so clean?" she marveled.
"Oh, years of practice," Petunia said modestly. Lucy resisted the urge to spit on the floor, only held back by the knowledge that the horrid woman would force Harry to clean it up. Riddle told her once that the more polite she acted, the more she could get away with. It was good advice. "How is your father, by the way?"
"He's in good health. He's feeling very optimistic, these days— he read his horoscope, and it's warned him about a successful business deal," Lucy said brightly. Petunia looked about ready to weep from happiness. "I wonder, Mrs. Dursley... Would it be too much trouble if I met up with Harry still? He's just so sweet, and he tells me the most darling things about this house! How clean it is— oh, I know he'd be embarrassed if he knew, but I can't help but relaying it all to my father!"
"I think that would be just fine," Petunia said warmly. Her smile looked too large for her face.
Harry, who had heard all of this from the stairwell, fought hard to keep from laughing. He showed up with Hedwig's cage. The latch was locked, but she could take care of that herself. She took the cage into her arms and beamed at Harry. "Oh, Harry, thank you ever so much! Would you be a dear and walk me to the train station? If it's not too much trouble?"
"Not at all, Lucy," Harry said kindly. "Anything for a friend. I mean, would that be alright, Aunt Petunia?"
Petunia nodded with such ferocity that Lucy was worried her head might fall off her shoulders.
They managed to keep a straight face until they were a block away, and then they both stopped, positively weeping with laughter.
"O-Oh my god, Lucy, that was brilliant!" Harry gasped, "I've never seen her look so happy, it was almost scary!"
Lucy felt like her sides were going to fall off her body. "I-I think my summer's peaked here, Harry. There's no possible way life could get better than this," she whimpered at the amount she was laughing. "Did you see her nodding? I thought she might snap her neck. She looked like—"
"— a bobblehead!" they finished at the same time.
It took a few minutes, but they finally managed to get a hold of themselves. Lucy stopped to forcefully break the latch of Hedwig's cage open, so the bird could fly alongside them. Hedwig let out a happy hoot and nuzzled into her cheek briefly before flying above them.
"She looks so happy," Harry said, almost sadly. "I'm going to miss her."
Lucy nudged him in the side, offering him a smile. "It won't be for long! You'll get her back this summer. 'Sides, I'll come again tomorrow and she'll fly up ahead. Now that I know the way better, it shouldn't take me as long."
Harry shook his head, smiling. "I still can't believe you came all the way here from London. You're insane, you know that?"
"Yeah, an insanely good friend," she grinned. She then looked at him seriously. "I was worried about you. Thought maybe the muggles had you locked up. Have they been treating you okay?"
"Well, they'll never be nice to me, but I've got control of things." She arched an eyebrow at him, so he explained. "I'm not allowed to use magic outside of school. But they don't know that. See, even if I haven't got my wand, they don't know I still can't use any magic."
She couldn't stop the laugh that came out of her throat. "Harry, that's absolutely genius," she chuckled, patting him on the shoulder. Harry really was clever, despite what Hermione may think. He was just a different sort of clever.
"It is one of my brighter moments," He agreed with a smirk. "But it's nothing compared to spying on Voldemort for a year. I still can hardly believe it was Quirrell all along— oh, no!" He cried suddenly and slapped a hand to his forehead.
Alarmed, Lucy stopped walking and looked at him in concern. "What is it?"
"Remember our bet? I bet you thirty galleons it was Snape..." he said with a pained look.
Oh, that. It was such a long while ago that Lucy had completely forgotten about it. She started laughing and kept walking. "Don't worry about it, Harry. You don't really have to give me thirty galleons."
"Yes I do," Harry insisted. "A bet's a bet. And it's not the thirty galleons I've got a problem with— it's that it was due to Snape I was wrong."
"Wouldn't it be due to Quirrell?"
"Between Quirrell and Snape, I still think Snape's more evil."
Lucy snorted. Well, he wasn't wrong. Harry grinned and said determinedly, "Next time I go to Diagon Alley, I'll get it to you."
"Harry, no, you really don't have to," Lucy insisted. The thought of taking money from her friends made her feel queasy. It was good to know she had some amount of shame.
"My Gryffindor honor would never recover if I didn't," Harry said. "There's no changing my mind on this, Luce. You won the bet fair and square."
Shaking her head, she couldn't help but smile. Typical Harry— acting like she was doing him a favor.
The sun was just about to set, and they'd finally reached the train station. Lucy turned to hug him again. "I'll be back early tomorrow, and I'll bring snacks. You've gotten skinnier," she said, and she poked him in the ribs.
He batted her hand away, scowling. "You have too," he pointed out.
"Yes, well, I live in an Orphanage. You live in a nice suburban home. There's a difference," she said dryly.
Harry shrugged. He supposed that was fair. His eyes then fell on the diary she was still holding. "Hey, what're you carrying that book around for? You haven't let it go once since we've got here."
"I've taken up journalling," she said, and it wasn't technically a lie. She didn't want anyone to know about her new hobby— she knew talking to a mysterious journal was shady business, but it was just so fun. And Riddle told her so many good spells. He was a fountain of knowledge, really.
Harry nodded, accepting that as an answer. "Well, I'll see you tomorrow," he said, and he grinned at the thought.
"Tomorrow," Lucy agreed.
She hopped aboard the train and settled in her seat. She flipped down the train and lay the diary out in front of her, taking out her pen. Time to have some fun.