A/N:
Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition S11, Practice Round
Team: Caerphilly Catapults
Position: Chaser 3
Prompt: (Pocket Dimension) Write about the things that could happen inside a 'space pocket' where the inside is bigger than the outside
Additional Prompts:
[Pairing] Tom Riddle/Voldemort x Ginny Weasley
[Last Line] Gladly, I succumbed.
[Color] Black
Word count: 1966
Betas: Sky, Queenie, and Bea
Note: In this AU, the Chamber of Secrets was never reopened and Ginny never got rid of Tom Riddle's diary, but kept writing in it.
-x-x-x-
Dear Diary,
The world has changed so much in the past year, and – whether I should be proud or ashamed – I played a key role in it. Is it truly a change, though, if the state of affairs has simply been restored to what it was sixteen years ago? Or is it a rectification of the actual change which happened that night in Godric's Hollow?
It's so bizarre, writing in a diary that doesn't write back! It was Tom's idea that I do this. He says it's healthy to take time to be alone with my thoughts... Mostly because I often cannot separate my thoughts from his anymore.
It all started with Yule Ball, in my third year. I watched Harry pine over Cho since the beginning of that semester, but when he finally asked her to the Ball and she said no, I thought that maybe, as a last resort, I had at least a small chance. But Harry ended up asking the first random girl that happened to walk into the common room that evening.
I ran upstairs to the girls' bedroom and cried for an hour. Then I took Tom Riddle's diary and ran my fingers across its black leather cover. It soothed me. That little diary had been my best friend for over two years. I opened it, grabbed my quill and ink, and poured my heart out.
Tom listened, patient and kind as always. His answers swam to the surface of the pages, with black ink that sank back in within seconds.
No wonder he's not interested in me, I wrote. I'm nothing special.
Why would you say that? Came Tom's response. You are a very talented witch, of a long pure-blood lineage.
I snorted. Ignoring the word 'talented,' I wrote, That doesn't matter to him.
Then he is a fool, Tom's words bloomed in black letters, making me smile. A moment later, another sentence appeared. It matters to me.
My heart beat faster. I dipped my quill in ink and expressed a desire that would change my life forever.
I wish I could meet you in person.
To my astonishment, instead of a non-committal 'that would be nice,' the straightforward answer read, Then come meet me.
I frowned, not understanding what he meant. The pages suddenly flipped on their own, making me jump on the bed. When they settled, a line came up, under a date of June.
Let me take you for a walk on a warm summer day.
I glanced at the frosted window, and was about to write a warm summer day would be nice in December, but before I could lower my quill, I was pulled into the diary.
I blinked, and when I opened my eyes, I was outside, but it wasn't a December evening. The sun was high in the sky and I could feel its warmth on my skin. I stood on bright green grass. The water of the lake sparkled, and somewhere nearby, birds were singing. I whirled around, with my mouth open.
"What? How?" I said to no one in particular.
"Welcome to my world," I heard someone say.
And there he was – the most handsome boy I've ever seen. Merely a few years older than me, with a lean figure, thick hair, sharp gaze, and thin lips lifted in a smirk.
"Tom?" I asked, completely dumbstruck.
Tom flashed a smile that immediately stole my heart.
"It's lovely to finally meet you, Ginny."
I realized my mouth was still open, so I closed it.
"You're… real," I managed.
"Of course I am." He scoffed with an air of nonchalance. "You didn't think I was real?"
"I don't know, I thought- I don't know!" I glanced around again, trying to make sense out of it all. "Are we at Hogwarts?"
"Yes," he said evenly. "But many years ago."
Before I had time to inquire what he meant by that, I sprang aside as a couple of older students strode right at me.
Tom chuckled. "Pay no attention to them. They can't see you, touch you, or talk to you. They're merely a shadow."
I eyed him closely.
"But you're not," I noted.
"No," he admitted, his tone perfectly balanced. "These are my memories."
"We're inside the diary," I whispered, realization finally dawning on me.
He grinned. "How about that walk then?"
My heart fluttered in my chest as he gallantly offered his arm. Hesitantly, I took it, hoping he didn't notice me blush. That day I forgot about Harry Potter once and for all.
Ever since then, Tom Riddle's universe became my second home. It was like having a secret world hidden in my pocket. Together, we roamed the castle full of ghostlike people who would go right through us. We took strolls by the lake, lay on the grass, and climbed trees, laughing. I don't think I've ever been that cheerful.
And when it was time to go back and I went to bed, I put the diary on my nightstand, so it was the last thing I saw when I fell asleep, and the first thing I saw when I woke up. The sight of the black leather cover always filled me with peace.
Tom never ceased to amaze me. He took me to Hogsmeade, where I saw the Shrieking Shack before it was Shrieking. Back in Tom's times, it was just an ordinary shack. In May, he took me to a Halloween party, and in June — to a Christmas party, just for fun. We danced to music that sounded very old to my ears, but when Tom took my hand and pulled me closer, I didn't care about the music at all.
In August, during summer holidays, the Burrow was swarmed with people and I had to go outside in order to have some privacy. I couldn't risk someone seeing me jump out of a diary when I returned from Tom's world.
"Ron, Harry, and Hermione want to be alone, as if everything they talk about is a national secret," I complained, rolling my eyes and making Tom chuckle. "The same goes for Fred and George. Percy is too important to speak to anyone unless they work for the Ministry, and to Bill and Charlie, I'm just the youngest kid."
We sat by the fireplace in the Slytherin common room, watching the flickering tongues of flame, as a howling blizzard raged outside the window.
"How is it that my house is so crowded with people, and yet I'm so lonely?"
Tom smiled knowingly.
"Look at how crowded this place is." He nodded towards the specter students rushing in and out through the entrance. "Yet I was lonely too." He tilted his head to the side, his piercing gaze causing a wave of warmth to rush through me. With a fond smile, he added, "Until you found me."
Our lips met in a kiss. It was sweet and tender, and left me wishing I could stay with him there forever – bound to a world inside a diary, or not. I rested my forehead against his and I breathed in his scent, desperate to remember every single detail.
"How long have you been trapped in here?" I whispered.
Tom raised an eyebrow.
"Longer than I'd care to count."
That's not good, I figured.
"Can you ever get out?"
A spark of excitement flashed in Tom's eyes.
"I could," he said slowly, watching me with interest, "if I had help."
"Tell me!" I exclaimed, practically jumping on the couch. "What can I do?"
The corners of Tom's lips lifted in a smirk. He took my hand and placed a kiss on my fingers, while he held my gaze with a passion I can't describe.
"For now just keep visiting me, my dear. When the time comes, I shall tell you."
And so I did. I visited him whenever I could. At some point, I'm pretty sure, I spent more time in the universe inside the diary, than I did in the real, outside world. I was fourteen and madly in love with a boy I couldn't show off. I felt like a silly teenager with an imaginary boyfriend. At times I asked myself whether he actually was imaginary. But the truth was, I could no longer function without him.
Every day, I felt a yearning, stronger than before; a burning longing to be near him. There was always a part of me missing when we weren't together. And every time he held me or kissed me, I wanted to burst with happiness. I was sure that's where I belonged and I didn't want to be anywhere else. Parting from him was becoming more and more difficult, until I could barely stand it.
And then, shortly after my fifteenth birthday, Tom asked me if I would consider being bonded to him.
"What do you mean?" I asked, already knowing I would say yes.
"There is a ritual with which I could leave this place. If you still want to help me, that is," he added the last part, glancing at me almost shyly.
"Of course, Tom!" I exclaimed hastily. "Just tell me what I need to do and I'll do it!"
The corners of his lips lifted.
"I can only step into the outside world if I bind my soul to another person." He tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and caressed my cheek with his thumb, inching his face closer to mine, making my breath quicken. "And I cannot think of another person that I would want to do this with."
"So," I swallowed, "we would be sharing a soul?"
"For a while." He nodded. "Once I was out with you, we could perform a ritual to restore my body. But even after that," his dark eyes bore into mine, entrancing me, "we would share a deep connection forever."
The vision of that was irresistible. I agreed, naturally, as if I could deny Tom anything. The following day, I prepared what was needed. Tom instructed me to go to a certain graveyard, where he would need to be to retrieve a final ingredient. I went into the diary for the last time that night, and resurfaced, bonded to Tom Riddle.
We performed the ritual together, and when he was finally there, in the flesh, standing before me in the real world, the first thing he did was kiss me. It felt so amazing, it was almost surreal. Tom had been right – we did share a deep connection now. It was an unbreakable bond.
It was only then, after he returned to full power, that he told me who he really was. I can't say it didn't come as a shock.
"Don't be frightened, Ginny." He took my hand and gave me that seductive smile of his, which melted my heart. "Stay by my side and rule the world with me."
As always, I found it impossible to say no to Tom Riddle.
They call me the Dark Lady now. It was all strange at first but I got used to it. The diary was destroyed in the ritual, not that I need it anymore. I dyed my hair black, however, like the color of the diary's cover and the ink that appeared on its pages, which always brought me comfort when I needed it.
It also serves as a statement that I am no longer a Weasley. My family disowned me for helping Lord Voldemort return and becoming his soulmate. They said I was weak and stupid for not recognizing dark magic and not resisting its temptation.
Perhaps they're right. I was tempted – with being heard and appreciated… being important to someone. With the notion of not being ignored. With love. With power... What can I say? Gladly, I succumbed.