A/N: Well, this is a pairing I've been wanting to write for a while (TomxGinny), so I hope you enjoy it :)

Word Count: 2,938

Written for: QLFC rnd 7 [Harpies, Beater 2 - Riddle's Diary: "We accept the love we think we deserve" The Perks of Being a Wallflower - Stephen Chbosky, Jack & Jill (nursery rhyme)]; Quotes for all Occasions comp [Family: "When your mother asks, "Do you want a piece of advice?" it's a mere formality. It doesn't matter if you answer yes or no. You're going to get it anyway."- Erma Bombeck]; Hunger Games comp ["I do" I say. "I need you."]; Disney characters comp [Heroes - Mulan - Ginny]; One Direction comp [Little White Lies]; Fave House Bootcamp [used]; Pairing Diversity Bootcamp [retrospectively]; Birthday comp [August - characters - Ginny Weasley]; Daily Inspiration challenge [30th July: fear]

The Boy in the Diary

Love is a game to you; it's not pretend. Maybe if I fall asleep I won't breathe right.

Can nobody hear me? I've got a lot that's on my mind. – Imagine Dragons

XXX

But you, you don't tell the truth. No you, you like playing games.

You've been taking up my mind with your little white lies. – One Direction

There were times when Ginny Potter (née Weasley) still thought about Tom Riddle. It was rarely down to conscious musing; after being in the presence of Voldemort, she never allowed herself to even let Tom's name cross her mind. It was just too painful to even consider the notion that the monster that stood before her mocking the apparent death of her boyfriend could even be remotely related to the kind boy in the diary.

Only it was worse than that; Tom and Voldemort shared a soul. They were the same person, and that thought made Ginny feel physically sick. She refused to believe it. She and Tom… they had a bond that nobody else could understand. She knew him. Or at least, she thought she did. Time and time again, Ginny told herself that he was just using her and telling her what she wanted to hear in order to manipulate her to do things he lacked the physical capacity to do himself. He needed her. He made her feel wanted - even special - at times. At the time she thought he might have even loved her, and she him.

But that impression was just imagined from her deluded childish mind, wasn't it? It must have been. The only other answer Ginny had ever been able to come up with in retrospect, was that her written exchanges with him through the diary were around the period she was struggling to be herself around Harry and getting him to notice her.

She was frustrated that her feelings weren't reciprocated; she thought she deserved love, so when Tom came into her life she always accepted and ate up every perfectly written word with no hesitation.

Ginny, now a mother to three beautiful children determinedly refuted this idea, but it was the only logical explanation. She could never stand re-living how awkward, dependent and weak she'd been as a child, but sometimes she had to, because that time of her life was when she had Tom. And he had her.

He gave her confidence, inner-strength and emotional support. In return she… well, she almost ended up giving him her life. She'd been manipulated with magic and his hypnotic words, or so everyone assumed. Only Ginny knew the truth: it had been her own decision. She promised him she'd do anything for him if it meant him becoming strong again, if it meant actually being able to meet him. Properly.

It really was crazy how much some girls were willing to do for love - even the false kind. But Tom had been so protective, so caring to her that Ginny never could have imagined it was her life that would ensure he had one of his own.

'Neither can live while the other survives…'

That prophecy seemed to eerily reflect the relationship Ginny shared with Tom, just as it reflected the one her husband shared with Voldemort. She too, was protected for the very purpose of her destruction – at his hands – just as Harry had been.

For all of these reasons, Ginny didn't consciously allow herself to think about Tom, but the night was a completely different story: that was when the boy from the diary liked to invade her thoughts and dreams. Sleep made her vulnerable and unguarded, providing a strange similarity to the fragile and naïve girl Tom used to take advantage of and control. At least, that's who he was when Ginny was awake. When she was asleep, Tom was a charming, mysterious and caring boy who'd never dream of hurting her.

'Hello, Tom.'

Ginny wiped a tear or two from her face as she wrote with an unsteady hand. The words were barely legible, so she was surprised to see the elegant script write back to her.

'Hello, Ginevra. How are you today?'

Ginny's stomach did a flip. There was nothing out of the ordinary about his question, but something about it seemed meaningful, almost like Tom knew she was upset.

(The boy in the diary understood her.)

'Not brilliant', she answered.

'Tell me what happened.' His next message was forward – almost commanding – but Ginny saw it more as friendly concern.

'No, it doesn't matter. It's kind of stupid… you'll think I'm stupid.'

'I could never think that of you, Ginevra. Don't say things like that.'

'Why not?'

'Because I care about you. I'm your friend, and I don't want you to be upset.'

Ginny poised her quill to write more excuses but another message appeared from Tom.

'You can trust me.'

She ought to have been much more sceptical about a disembodied stranger writing such things to her, but something about the aura emitted from the pages of the diary reassured her that he was telling the truth. She felt connected to the book: to Tom.

'I can't get Harry Potter to notice me,' she finally wrote. 'And when he does notice me, it's for all the wrong reasons.'

'Please elaborate, Ginevra.' It was really bizarre how written words could sound so patient and sympathetic in Ginny's head; maybe it was the way the letters appeared so slowly, carefully, on the otherwise blank page.

'Whenever Harry's in the room it's like someone casts a spell on me to make sure I always humiliate myself in front of him. It's awful. Everyone always laughs and Harry looks at me like I'm crazy.'

'The people who laugh at you aren't worth a single tear, Ginevra,' Tom wrote back. 'It's their – and Harry Potter's – loss that they can't see how special you are.'

'Me – special?' Ginny wrote with a dubious expression on her face.

'Yes.' Tom replied simply.

'Is there anything I can do to make Harry notice me, in a good way?'

There was a pause between her question and the reply. For a moment Ginny thought she'd upset him. But he wrote back.

(The boy in the diary always wrote back.)

'What are your interests, Ginevra?'

'Um… I can fly, but Harry's much better than me so that would hardly impress him. The other stuff I like is kind of silly.'

'Don't underrate yourself.' Tom wrote. 'Remember: you are special.'

'Right,' Ginny blushed. 'Well, I like animals and poetry and-'

'Poetry?' Tom's writing appeared before Ginny could finish her sentence.

'Well, the childish kind of poetry: nursery rhymes.'

'I'm not familiar with that genre,' Tom wrote. 'Would you mind giving me an example?'

Ginny thought for a moment and racked her brains. She ended up writing the only one she knew a whole verse of.

'Jack and Jill went up a hill,

To fetch a pail of water.

Jack fell down, and broke his crown,

And Jill came tumbling after.'

She waited patiently for Tom's reply.

'Why does Jill tumble down the hill too, Ginevra?' His response was unexpected. She couldn't really understand why he was asking her about the poem as if she were the original author, but she played along.

'I don't know; it doesn't say.'

'That's what is so intriguing about poetry, Ginevra. It is open to the perception of the reader. Read it again, and tell me what you think. Don't be manipulated by what words first appear to mean.'

(The boy in the diary could have been warning her about his own actions.)

Ginny's written poem had vanished by this point, but she chanted the rhyme over and over in her head until she at last, saw something differently.

'It doesn't say that Jill fell. Maybe she hurt herself on purpose because she didn't want Jack to be the only one in pain.'

'Why would Jill do that?'

'Um… I think she and Jack are friends like you and I are. She cares about him.'

'Very good, Ginevra,' Tom's reply made Ginny feel like she was in a lesson, but something about the obscurity of his questions left her intrigued to see where he was going with the conversation.

'What do you think, Tom?' she asked him.

'I agree with you, Ginevra. It seems you possess a bright mind; you understand poetry very well. Have you ever considered writing it yourself? Perhaps you could impress Harry Potter by that means.'

Ginny chewed her lip. She'd honestly never considered writing a poem to Harry, thinking it to be a cheesy and embarrassing thing to do. But Valentine's Day was coming up; maybe she'd be able to get away with an anonymous line or two about how his eyes reminded her of the colour of a fresh pickled toad… only written more romantically than that.

'I've never written anything like that before,' she wrote her thoughts to Tom. 'I'm almost certain it will be awful.'

'Have faith in yourself. I could even help you, if you'd like.'

'You'd do that for me?'

'Of course I would. Like you said, we are friends just like Jack and Jill. If you need me, I will help you.'

Ginny's grin stretched from ear to ear. If only she could see the twisted manipulations that played motive to the friendly comments. Before she could scribble a 'thank you' back to him, Tom started to write again.

'I hope you know that I am only doing this for you, because I care about you and I want you to be happy. But if I am honest, I don't think Harry Potter is worth a moment of your time.'

Ginny frowned. The thought of Tom being jealous of Harry did cross her mind, but that was absurd: how could he be jealous of a boy he'd never met before?

'Oh?' she asked.

'Harry Potter can't see how special you are like I can," read Tom's writing. 'It saddens me that he and those who laugh at you can be around you every day and not appreciate you.'

'Oh, Tom,' Ginny wrote. 'If only I could meet you in person.'

'Would you like that Ginevra?'

Ginny's heart leapt in excitement and joy. 'Yes! But, how is that possible?'

Once again Tom changed, and almost controlled, the turn in conversation. 'Tell me, if I needed you, would you be there for me as Jill was to Jack, and as I am with you?'

'You… need me?' Ginny felt her heart pounding against her ribcage like a rogue Bludger.

'I do,' he wrote in beautiful cursive. 'I need you.'

'Are you hurt, Tom?' Worry was etched on Ginny's face.

'No, but I am weak. I need your help to make me strong again.'

'Tell me what to do,' Ginny's quill skidded fiercely across the page in the diary. 'I'll do anything to help you.'

'That is a very bold statement, Ginevra.'

'Well, I mean it.'

When he replied, Ginny could almost sense the laughter that accompanied his disembodied voice. She could sense him.

'You are a very determined young lady. And special. Never forget that you are special.'

'I won't, Tom.'

'Promise me.'

'I promise: cross my heart and hope to die.'

'Ginevra…'

'Yes?'

'Never say things like that. The thought of you dying… unsettles me. It makes me want you with me in person so I can protect you.'

Ginny could have laughed at Tom's blatant misunderstanding of the figure of speech, but the humour faded when the diary began to shake, and the ink began to run.

(The boy in the diary was crying.)

'I'm sorry, Tom.' She wrote quickly. 'Tell me how I can meet you.'

'Are you good at keeping secrets, Ginevra?'

'Yes.'

'Good – because you cannot tell anyone about me, or the place where you can meet me.'

Again, Ginny ought to have been more concerned, but it was like her mind – her soul – was being possessed and overwhelmed by her need and want to help Tom.

'Okay,' she wrote. 'It will be our little secret.'

'Promise?'

'Promise.'

XXX

Ginny glided in amongst the shadows of the castle. Tom had only instructed her to go to the second floor girl's lavatories, but when she reached the room, nobody was there.

A strange vibration peeled off the walls, almost like it was a whisper – his whisper – calling her towards him. Ginny's feet seemed to move independently from her mind as she approached one of the sinks. For some reason she was drawn to one in particular.

(The boy in the diary was controlling her like a puppet on a string.)

Ginny reached out and grazed her fingertips against the side of the tap. The serpentine protrusion on it instantly warmed beneath her touch, like she was connected to Tom for that split second. She knew she was at the right place.

Ginny closed her eyes and drew her head up straight. When she opened her eyes again and looked at her reflection in the mirror, she screamed.

Though still a human form, the reflection wasn't hers. But it also wasn't Tom's.

There in the mirror, was the face of a girl who bore similarities to Ginny, and yet, was not her. The same freckles covered her nose and her hair was the same vibrant shade of red, but it wasn't falling past her shoulders as Ginny's did. The girl's hair fell just below her round jawline, and her eyes were a striking green colour that reminded Ginny of a fresh pickled toad, instead of blue.

The girl was Ginny's daughter.

It wasn't uncommon for Ginny's dreams to take the form of memories whenever Tom slipped past her defences and into her thoughts at night, but it was uncommon for Ginny to wake up in a cold sweat and for Harry to have to shake her back to consciousness because she had been screaming in the real world as well as in the dream.

She woke up scared instead of melancholic as she normally did. Usually, Ginny re-lived how blissfully oblivious she'd been as a child; she was able to enjoy getting to know the boy in the diary all over again without a care in the world. But this dream was very different: according to Harry she'd been tossing and turning right off the mark. That meant she'd been scared in the dream, too.

It took Ginny ages to put the pieces together. Though the memory was accurate, some of the finer details were wrong. The nursery rhyme, for example, had been a children's poem from the wizarding world in Ginny's real experience instead of a Muggle rhyme she'd never even heard of at aged eleven. Then there was that terrifying ending, of course, with Ginny's reflection being revealed to be Lily's.

Lily…

Suddenly, it all made sense. Lily, now aged thirteen, had been taught several nursery rhymes from her aunt Hermione when she was little. Jack and Jill was one of her favourites, and the fact that the girl in the dream was able to interpret the lines so well sent a shiver down Ginny's spine.

It had been Lily all along in the dream, and that's what had terrified Ginny so much. It was one thing to re-live her own memories, but seeing the same seemingly innocent exchange between Tom and Lily gave Ginny a whole new outlook on the situation.

Feeling nothing but terror at the realisation and relief that the dream hadn't been real, she rushed out of the master bedroom and across the landing to Lily's room. Ginny entered without knocking.

"Mum?" Lily, who was in her usual nocturnal phase of the school holidays, jumped off her bed and ran into her mother's outstretched arms. Ginny gripped her tightly, never wanting to let her go, or rather: never wanting to let someone like Tom Riddle take her away.

She became calmer the longer she held Lily; she was safe, and that's all that mattered.

"Sweetie," Ginny crouched so she was at her daughter's eye-level. "Can you do something for me?"

Lily nodded silently, unable to look away from her mother's tear-stained face.

"I don't want you writing in that diary that your friend from school bought you for your birthday," Ginny said in a shaky voice. "I'm sorry to ask you something so unreasonable. As a mum, the last thing I want to do is to invade the privacy of my teenage daughter, but-"

"Okay, Mum," Lily said. Her mother never cried, and the young girl was smart enough to know that in this case, she'd have a good reason for asking something like this of her.

Ginny couldn't help but smile at the maturity Lily was displaying. She was probably over-reacting about the dream, but the fact that Lily had been becoming increasingly attached to writing in her diary like she trusted it – like it were human – over the last few days made the dream seemed like a dark omen that the past would repeat itself.

"Do you want a piece of advice?" Ginny asked Lily, who rolled her eyes, knowing she was going to get the advice whether she asked for it or not.

Ginny smiled, "I know teenagers like to use diaries to write down things that they might be too embarrassed to ask or say out loud, but it's always best to talk to someone in person."

"Like you?" Lily asked.

"Yes, like me," Ginny replied.

"Okay, Mum. I'll come to you next time I need advice, even if it's about something really stupid like boys."

Ginny managed a laugh. "You promise?"

"Promise," Lily smiled.

A/N: Thank you for reading! As always, comments are appreciated :)