A/N: LeighaGreene and I were chatting about diary!Tom, and this plotbunny just grabbed me and refused to let go until I'd written a fic. While language and plot are suitable for young readers, this fic is likely to be more amusing to those already past those trying early teenage years who are able to look back at them with a chuckle. Arguably Ginny!bashing, YMMV. :)

She was back again. He guessed he was glad. It would let him strengthen his hold over her soul even more.

"No-one understands me, Tom," she wrote.

If Tom had lips to move, he would have sighed. Time to be sympathetic. Again. "I'm here for you, Ginny."

"I told Luna that Harry and I are meant to be together, and she asked if I had Wrackspurts in my head!" The writing was spiky and rapid – she was clearly upset.

"If you're destined to be together, it will happen. Nothing can stop true love." He felt dirty, just writing a lie that horrific. Love was a trap for the foolish and stupid.

"And Violet in my dorm said he's never even spoken to me, and that my painting of him I put on my wall looks nothing like him!"

Violet sounded like a sensible girl. She was probably a pure-blood. "Those without artistic talent are often jealous of those who possess such gifts, you know."

"You're right. She's probably just jealous. I'm not going to invite her to my wedding."

At times he wished he had a wall to beat his non-existent head against. It would help with the stress of dealing with the inane dreams of an eleven year old girl with a hopeless crush. "Did you decide on pink for the bridesmaids' dresses in the end?" he asked encouragingly. He hoped it would clash horribly. Apparently she was a redhead. Not that it mattered – her wedding plans for Harry Potter were a complete waste of time. Anyone with an ounce of sense could tell their 'relationship' was completely delusionary on her part. Just a figment of her wishful imagination.

He hated Harry Potter a little bit more every time she wrote about him. Perfect Harry Potter. So powerful – the destroyer of You-Know-Who! So brooding and mysterious. So brave, and handsome, and all things good. So lonely, and misunderstood. She thought she understood him – they were kindred spirits.

He wrote back and forth, encouraging Ginny to share her heart's deepest desires (marrying Harry Potter and living a life of luxury), her fondest dreams (he would notice her one day, it was destiny), and her darkest fears (being snubbed by Harry, and getting pimples).

It took an interminably long two months but finally at Halloween in the middle of a discussion about where she'd like to go on her honeymoon, he felt it. Finally. He had siphoned enough magic from her, clawed out enough of a link to her soul, to permit him to seize control of her. Now she would dance to his tune.

THE CHAMBER OF SECRETS HAS BEEN OPENED. ENEMIES OF THE HEIR, BEWARE.

The first human victim he set the basilisk on was that annoying little Mudblood that Ginny was convinced would be a great wedding photographer. He'd actually talked about appropriate rates for wedding photography with her. Clearly the boy was an imbecile and needed to go, lest he mingle with one of the better families and pollute the wizarding world with his presence. Grindelwald had the right idea there. He doubted anyone would miss the idiot, and his guess seemed right. The business of the school reportedly continued with barely a ripple of concern over the boy's petrification.

He needed more energy to escape his papery prison again.

She was using pink ink today. Pink. "Do you think Harry and I are soulmates?"

Insofar as she and the Potter boy both deserved to die? Definitely. It was destiny. "I think it's destiny. You're meant to be together – forever!" In the ground. Six feet deep.

"But are we soulmates? Picked out for each other by Magic since before we were born? I think Harry and I share a special connection."

Maybe death wasn't so bad after all. Wizards said it was a green Summerland – would he get to go there? The vicar always swore Hell was his destination. It felt like he was there already. "Absolutely, Ginny. I think you are soulmates!"

"He smiled at me today!" she gushed happily. The extra exclamation points were a sure sign of deep emotion. He relished them only for the way drinking up her emotions gave him more of a hold over her soul. At least she usually knew how to spell correctly. Standards were certainly slipping since his day. She didn't even write in Copperplate. It was just a messy hodgepodge of different fonts with no style.

"Did he?! That's so exciting! Tell me more!" He really couldn't handle using more than two exclamation marks. It would have to do.

"Well, it was definitely in my direction! He looked at me too! Our eyes met across the crowded room."

A pause, and then she was writing again, her words more curly and decorative than usual. "Mrs. Potter."

Oh no. Not this again.

"Mrs. Ginny Potter. Mrs. Ginevra Molly Potter. Mrs. Weasley-Potter. Mrs. G. M. Potter. 3 Mr. Harry and Mrs. Ginevra Potter. Mrs. Ginny Potter-Weasley. Which do you think is better, Tom? Weasley-Potter, Potter-Weasley, or Potter?"

He really wanted to kill someone. He'd get the Basilisk to try again.

By January he was reaching the end of his patience. He almost preferred it when she was complaining about her bouts of memory loss. It was worse than that today – the girl was whining again.

"Why is he visiting Hermione so much? What does she have that I don't have?" Intelligence and at least a smidge of maturity? Or perhaps it was simply that the boy's Mudblood friend was sick and confined to the Hospital Wing. He supposed there was such a thing as too much in-breeding, amongst some of the pure-blood families. The Weasleys seemed the worse for it.

"She's just a friend, I'm sure you have nothing to worry about, with a homely girl like that for your only competition."

"Her teeth are enormous," Ginny wrote smugly, drawing a little caricature to show him. "And you know, Harry and I have much more in common. And I'm sure he likes pretty red hair more than mousey brown. Did you know his mother had red hair like mine!?"

There was nothing more attractive to a young man than a girl reminding him of his mother, surely.

"And I love Quidditch, just like him! Especially being Seeker. I've played Seeker when I play with my brothers, you know!"

"You two have so much in common!" he encouraged, feeling sick. "Tell me more about how they say he defeated the Dark Lord."

"Hermione's a dreadful bookworm, you know. Do you think he'll ask me to be his Valentine, or her?"

He hated this girl more than he'd hated anyone in his life. Or un-life. He'd been planning to spare her life since she was a pure-blood, but now he'd decided. She had to go.

"I'm sure he will ask you. You're soulmates! Maybe you should say something to hint to him how much you care for him?" It would be fun to hear about how he rejected her. He hoped she would cry, and let him sup on her tears as they soaked into the paper pages of his prison.

It had seemed like a delightfully wicked idea, but it was a mistake. She started writing poetry. Bad poetry. Poetry he would use the Cruciatus curse on her for, if only he could.

When Tom finally snapped, it was to rant at her that "toad" in no way rhymed with "blackboard", and that she was a talentless child who deserved nothing but mockery for her pathetic attempts at poetry. After she'd vented to him about her hurt feelings, he got his diary thrown angrily in a toilet for his overly honest critique. It was almost a relief.

Dear Merlin. She had him back again. It had been such a wonderful break, being found by his worst enemy. He was considering revising that judgement… but then… it would be dreadful to have 'Ginny Weasley' as his nemesis. It was nothing to be proud of.

"What did he say about me? Did you tell him about me? Did you tell him the names I picked out for our children?!"

"No, don't worry."

"Did he figure out how to work you? Did it take long?"

"It took a long while, but he figured it out eventually." Write more. More questions. Let my barbs sink into your soul, ever deeper. We can be soulmates, Ginevra Molly Weasley.

"Did you tell him about the roosters? Because I think I wasn't feeling well that day. What if he thinks I'm crazy? Did you tell him?"

"No." A true response, just for a change.

There was a pause for a while.

"What did he say about me, Tom? Pleeeeease tell me."

Time for revenge. "He didn't say much. But he told me he liked your poem."

"I told you it was DEEP! Because it's a dead toad, you see. Eyes like Bright. Green. Death. It's symbolic. Of how he's suffered – what he's seen. And pickled toads are a very beautiful bright green, just like his eyes."

How Tom resented having to keep up this charade of caring. But he had to reel her back under his control. Then he could finish her off for good. "You were so right, Ginny. You're better at poetry than I ever was. I was just jealous. I'm so sorry. Friends?"

"Best friends, Tom. Xx"

Oh, good. "Best friends forever, Ginny! Xx Til death do us part. Xx" Hopefully that day would be soon. He couldn't wait.

With his spirit screaming his agony in the Chamber of Secrets while ink spurted out of the diary, Tom had just one comforting thought to hold onto in his last moments. Ginny was still limp on the floor - dying. Hopefully she wouldn't make it. Hopefully their connection would drag her spirit with him into the afterlife. And hopefully once there, he'd be able to spend eternity making her suffer.