It was her first journal.
Ginny ignored the laughter drifting in the open window. Well, she ignored it as much as she could. The most constant voices came from the twins: they whooped and laughed and taunted each other. Ron's was less common: a mixture of taunts and defensiveness. She heard Harry's voice the least. A shout of surprise and laughter, here, and a thrill of celebration, there. Ginny listened for it, hard, and might have sat there for an hour, pretending she was ignoring the fact Harry Potter was at the Burrow and had been for weeks.
My first journal, thought Ginny. She'd always liked writing and practicing her handwriting under her mother's direction. This was probably why her parents had slipped this in with her school things. Her mother knew she liked writing and wanted her to have a journal. Or maybe it was her dad. Either one would've done it, and not want to make a fuss that the journal was a little battered and a little bruised next to the shiny new books Harry had tipped into her cauldron.
"Caught it!" Harry shouted.
Ginny jumped. He was out in the orchard with her brothers, but his voice had sounded so close...
Get a grip, she told herself. Annoyance made her slam open the cover of the book, then immediately regret it; they had to take great care with their things, they couldn't afford to replace them. Fred had learned that the hard way when he'd been careless with his old Shooting Star, and their dad said he'd have to earn every knut to get a new broom. Ginny, who snuck into the broomshed to nick her brothers's brooms at every opportunity, was more disappointed in the loss of the Shooting Star than Fred.
Clattering footsteps sounded outside her door, and pure instinct had her curving an arm protectively over the journal. It was the twins, laughing and shoving each other into the walls. Journal forgotten, Ginny slipped out of her desk chair and went quietly to the door. She'd missed when they decided to leave off their makeshift Quidditch game and come home to get ready for dinner. So caught up in her new present, she'd missed it.
She didn't miss hearing Harry and Ron walk by her room. Ron sort of stumped around, but Harry was lighter on his feet. He'd been so embarrassed yesterday, when Gilderoy Lockhart pulled him in front of the crowd. And then with the Malfoy boy! He hadn't wanted all that, which made Ginny almost grateful that she couldn't talk around him. She was sure to gush and make his face go red like it had in Flourish and Blotts. He wouldn't want that.
After the sound of his footsteps receded, Ginny slouched back to her chair. The excitement over her present faded a bit. Honestly, what could compare to having Harry Potter here in her home? It took some effort to shove that thought aside. The last thing she wanted was for any of her family (or worse, Harry himself) to realize how exciting it was to have him there, and how brilliantly embarrassing it was. She tipped her chair back and relived the moment she'd come down the stairs to find Harry Potter in her kitchen. Instead of making a cake of herself, though, she imagined she'd been cooler... more like Bill... maybe even with her own pair of dragonhide boots.
"Ginny! Dinner!"
Her mum's shout told her she'd been yelling for her for a while, and Ginny launched forward. Her fantasy fragmented, and she was no longer wearing brand new robes and dragonhide boots and walking down to the kitchen to see Harry stand up hastily, and say: "Oh, you must be Ginny! Ron's told me all about you." Instead, she was just Ginny again.
This is what she wrote in her journal: "My name is Ginny Weasley". She scrawled it across the first page and didn't wait for the ink to dry. She left it open on the desk and left, both eager for and dreading the next few hours.
It wasn't until much later than Ginny expected that she got back to her room. After dinner, everyone went to the sitting room. Ginny sat on her hands, feeling flushed with the effort of not saying anything to embarrass herself. Everyone else were quite merry. Her mother hummed a Celestina Warbeck song while she embroidered a pillowcase; the twins sat in the center of the floor and tried to coax Percy into playing a game of exploding snap. And Harry was playing a game of wizarding chess with Ron.
"I thought you said having older chess pieces would help," Harry said. Laughter lurked in his words.
"Even they think you're bad," Ron said.
Ginny shifted. In her mind's eye, she could see herself. She was wearing dragonhide boots again and robes that weren't patched and shabby. "Budge over, Ron," this Ginny would say. Ron would grumble but scoot over, and it would be Ginny playing against him. It was stupid and unfair, but in her head, Ginny wasn't paralyzed by the fear of saying the wrong thing. She sighed a little.
"Ginny?"
Her dad's gentle voice dissolved her fantasy.
He invited her to come out and check the charms on the garden with him. Ginny agreed, feeling an immense swell of gratitude. Of course, they didn't give her mother's expansive garden much more than a cursory look. It was as stuffed as usual. It had to feed so many different people, after all, and provide the magical plants that made up the potions her mother made. But the charms to keep the night bugs away held steady, and her dad led her to the small shed at the back.
Her mother was never really concerned about this shed, though Ginny sometimes thought her dad would be in trouble if her mum ever got curious. The shelves were lined with all sorts of Muggle artifacts that Ginny didn't know the name of. Some were glossy and black, others were faded. Some had what her dad claimed was called "plugs", but others didn't have any sort of tail-like appendage. It was a fascinating place, her dad's shed.
"Look, I got another one," he said.
"Oh, well, that one's a proper artifact!" Ginny said. She peered closer. It was about the size and shape of a bin, but had an odd sort of cover: there was a rectangular hole that ran through the center, and it had grooved metal teeth. "What does it do? It's some sort of weapon, I bet, look, that could hurt someone!"
"Not everything Muggles make is some sort of weapon," her dad said. He ruffled her hair.
"I know," said Ginny. "A lot of them are peaceful, I know, Dad." Her father was always very careful to make sure that none of his children took on the ideas of the Ministry. One of his favorite topics of conversation was the casual disregard for Muggles was one of the things that helped He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named get so much power. Don't ever lump them in like they're all the same, he said many times. Us Weasleys are a lot different from other families, and Muggles can be as different from each other as we are from, say, the Malfoys.
"Good," he said. He clapped his hands together and looked down at the bin with the oddly shaped cover. "Now, someone cursed this so it did turn into a rather awful weapon. But not a Muggle, it was a wizard who wanted to hurt them."
"Or a witch," Ginny said, smirking up at him.
"Or a witch, how right you are," he said. "Those metal teeth in there were chomping down on everything it could get. Perkins broke the curse, and I took it home." He put his hands on his hips and looked at it. "I can't figure out how to make it useful here, though."
Ginny chuckled. "Maybe you should take it apart? Really get a good look at it so you can figure out how to make it work for us?"
"You're right, Ginny," he said.
They spent the next hour taking the strange bin apart. There was some waste left in the bottom, but it was only scraps of paper: long, thin scraps that had completely savaged whatever it was that had been written there. Once, her dad had found a little compartment that had one of the tails with a plug on the end, and let out an exclamation. They finally decided, together, that they could charm it to produce more compost for the garden.
"Excellent idea, Ginny!"
"Well, it was mostly your idea, Dad," Ginny said, grinning.
His eyes twinkled at her. "Ah, it's good to hear your voice again," he said. "You've been, umm, quiet all summer."
She blushed and kicked her foot against the worktable. "I, um, you know, I."
Her dad shook his head and looked up at the ceiling. "I can't believe you're old enough to go to Hogwarts, let alone have a crush on a boy." Ginny's insides writhed with embarrassment. Her jaw locked together. Was it so obvious that her dad would just drop it so casually like that?! Worse, he kept talking, apparently not able to recognize how horrified she was. "There could be worse boys, you know, but blimey. My baby is growing up."
His baby wanted the floor to swallow her up.
"I can't wait to go to Hogwarts," Ginny said loudly. "I can't wait to start learning magic."
The diversion worked. "You've already got a good grounding," he said. "You've always paid more attention than your brothers. Well, most of them. Bill and Percy were always watching, too." He tapped the Muggle artifact with his wand and muttered under his breath. The lid of the bin shivered; blue light rippled up and down it. The metal teeth clattered together and took on a sheen of the same color. "Ah. I think that worked, Ginny!"
"Good," she said. The relief she felt had nothing to do with her dad's charm, but everything to do with the fact he'd stopped talking about Ginny's crush like it was so obvious that it could come up in the most casual of conversations.
They tested out the new composting artifact, and it worked perfectly. It was added to the shelves all around the shed.
"I'm sorry, Ginny," Arthur said, after he'd put the artifact away.
"For what?" Ginny asked.
He gave her a knowing look. "I expect you want a bit more privacy," he said.
"Oh, well…"
There was an awkward pause, broken only when Ginny pointed at an artifact at random and asked what it did.
When they finally went back to the house, everyone had moved on from the sitting room except her mother. She was yawning and gesturing around the room with her wand. Sofa cushions righted themselves and plumped up, a minor spill vanished, and crumbs swept themselves up into a bin. "You two check the garden?" she asked around a huge yawn.
"Oh, yes," said Ginny. "Is everyone, um, in bed?"
Her parents exchanged glances that had Ginny's face heating up again. She ducked her head and wished there were some sort of charm that could get rid of her embarrassment for her. "I'm going to bed, then," she mumbled. "Good night!" She fled to her room and slammed the door shut and immediately pressed herself against it. Moonlight streamed through the window. The window was still open, from when she'd been pretending not to listen to her brothers (and any of the friends they might have over) play Quidditch. Now other noises drifted in the window: frogs at the pond called to one another, crickets sang, and an owl hooted.
When Ginny finally moved further into her room, her lamp flared up, providing more light. It spilled over onto her desk and made a bright pool. At the very center of it was her new journal. Suddenly, there was nothing more that she wanted to do than write out what had happened tonight.
But what if the twins find it?!
She sat, bottom half in the chair, and legs spread out as though she were about to leap out of it. It was tempting to pour out all her thoughts, but her brothers had never given her much privacy. If they ever found it, they'd probably read it out loud at the dinner table. Ginny could see it happening. They would have no mercy.
"I could hide it," Ginny muttered. The truth was, it was so tempting to pick up her quill and write in it. It was an inviting little thing. The paper was old, but that didn't matter, did it? The cover had a couple of stains on it, but it was what her parents could afford, wasn't it? She tucked her legs in under the desk. At that moment, she noticed that the paper was entirely blank. She leaned back in her chair, a little disconcerted. Didn't I write my name? she thought, baffled.
You must've forgotten.
Ginny finally looked down at the journal, dipped her quill in ink, and held it over the paper. Her mouth curved down in dismay when the ink dripped, creating an untidy splotch at the top corner. "Bugger," Ginny muttered. She reached for a cloth to blot it, but when she turned back the splotch had vanished.
The page in front of her was aged, yes, but unblotched.
A little thrill of discovery went through her. She had written her name in the journal, after all! Her parents hadn't given her an ordinary journal. It was magical! Excited now, Ginny wrote her name in large, loopy letters on the same page she'd written it before. It remained for a few heartbeats, then slowly faded into the yellowish paper. It was perfect, she decided. It was almost unbelievable how perfect it was. Her dad's voice came back to her, talking about privacy, and here was the perfect journal for her. Her brothers couldn't read any embarrassing confessions out loud to Harry at the dinner table. There would be nothing to read!
Except that as Ginny watched, words did appear. They were faint at first, and then grew bolder. And instead of just Ginny Weasley, it was an entire sentence.
I introduced myself earlier, but you never responded. Hello, Ginny Weasley, it's nice to meet you. My name is Tom Riddle.
Ginny picked up the journal and flipped through the pages, looking it all over. It was rather more magical than she'd thought at first…
It'd be rude not to respond, she thought.
Hello, Tom Riddle, she wrote. I've never heard of a journal that writes back before. Much better than a book that never lets you stop reading it! That's true
There was a long pause and Ginny wondered if the enchantment on the journal had come to an end. She was just about to close it when more words appeared.
First, I need to learn a few things about you.
Her brow knit.
Are you a student? Are you at Hogwarts?
She relaxed a little. I am. I will be, I mean. I'm about to start. It's almost September 1st! Congratulations. Tell me, is it your first year?
Yes, she wrote. Why?
I ask because I am not only a secret diary, but I am also a teacher. For the first time, Ginny noticed how very elegant the flowing script was. There were little flourishes on some of the letters that made it look beautiful. It struck her, then, that it was probably her dad who'd enchanted this diary for her. He'd bought the diary for her, and taken it home to enchant it. Who else would know she wanted privacy for her thoughts and also how much she yearned to learn magic?
Do you teach magic? Her script was childish and ugly compared to his.
I can.
A loud knock on her door startled her. Ginny realized she had her nose pressed up against the page, staring at the words I can with a peculiar sort of excitement. "What is it?" she called.
Her mother had decided it was time for bed, and even though Ginny tried to argue, she stood outside Ginny's door while she changed into pajamas. "All right, I'm getting in bed," Ginny said grumpily. She did so, and pulled the covers up to her chin. The moment she did so, the lamp on her desk winked out and her room was lit only by moonlight once more. Her thoughts raced. Her father had given her a diary that would not only keep her secrets but would teach her magic! None of the boys had ever got anything like that before they left for Hogwarts. Unless they never said anything, Ginny reasoned. Maybe her dad had given everyone something, but no one ever mentioned it.
Once she'd decided this was true, she flung the covers off her bed and rushed to her desk. The light was too weak to see by, but when she brought the diary and her quill back to her bed, she realized there was just enough moonlight for her to write. Can you teach me magic?! She asked. Her letters were big and bold.
I can teach you magic, Tom Riddle wrote. I know such magic I can teach you. I have such sights I can show you.
Author's Note: I initially posted this under a pseudonym. Enjoy!