With no corporeal body to cling to, there was nothing for a soul to do but think. Plot, plan, plead with whatever part of his mind remained to come up with some way of cleaving himself from this stagnant reality.
He took the ghostly equivalent of a deep breath and grounded himself. Cleared his mind and dragged it back to the present, dipping into the past on the way for inspiration that could be used for the future. He thought about what he knew that others didn't. There wasn't much left.
The Basilisk fang had itself been half a horcrux. An insurance policy. Not that he had expected the stupid boy to actually stab the diary. He hadn't thought he'd have the gall, or the presence of mind. It seemed preteen tantrums were not a thing to be underestimated.
It had set him back a fair few paces, yes, but not quite to the drawing board. The venom had very nearly destroyed him, but the horcrux from the fang had latched itself onto its new host, albeit somewhat haphazardly. There was still a shard of him left in the diary, festering, biding his time and waiting to be unleashed. But this wasn't something he could do alone. For thirteen years, there had never seemed to be anything Lord Voldemort could do alone.
The Gryffindor was there again. He could hear her, sense her. Her very presence caused a strange, barely palpable shift in the aura of the room, a ripple through the dormant magic residing there. One tended to notice these things when there was nothing else to feel.
She was muttering to herself again. Only this time it didn't seem to be about the cabinet. Something about lavender and a weasel. He heard the cabinet rattle as she shot a spell at it too forcefully, heard the shuddering intake of breath as she calmed her temper. Such power. Such waste.
He had been a skilled Legilimens, when he'd been more than a scrap of soul in an empty book. If only he could use that power now, to communicate with the girl… All he needed was someone to find the will to write in the diary again. But he had a sneaking suspicion he was buried deep under a pile of old books and trinkets. Not very accessible. He couldn't wait for someone to come to him. He had to make himself heard first.
This wasn't the first time he had tried to reach out to the girl's mind. He'd even attempted to communicate with the young Slytherin once, but he gave up quickly enough. The boy's mind wasn't in the right state. Vulnerable, perhaps. But not cunning enough for what he needed.
Rage and frustration consumed him as the tendrils of thought simply slipped away before reaching her. He was too far from anything resembling human at present to gain access to a living, breathing mind. He needed something tangible, something he could influence, but not something so far removed from him that he couldn't begin to breach the barrier closing him off. Perhaps…
A crash resounded behind him. A shrill cackle echoed around the room, followed by a loud bang and a harsh shriek from the Gryffindor girl.
"Peeves!" Hermione hissed.
Maybe for once the Room of Requirement had given Tom something he truly needed.
Peeves.
