Tom Riddle isn't just charismatic; to Ginny, he's an addiction. But paper should be good enough.

Tom Riddle isn't just charismatic; to Ginny, he's an addiction. But paper should be good enough.
Tom/Ginny, Harry/Ginny. Ginny loses herself in Tom Riddle once again. Set in Harry's sixth year. Heavily unreliable narrator. Written pre-HBP.

Paper should be good enough: 01; she denies

The eyes of her mother and father are horrified as they stare at her. She looks away, looks as far down as she can, away from the stares. She's just as horrified as they are.

They take her to the hospital wing. She doesn't remember speaking. She said something about the diary. Her father yelled. She didn't hear it.

She was used. A tool. Tom, her trusted friend, was You-Know-Who, using her to get to Harry.

It can't be true. Tom, he loves her, he cares about her. She's numb. Completely numb.

She lays in the bed, staring at the ceiling. The greatest impulse is to reach back into her back pocket, pull out the diary, read Tom's--no, You-Know-Who's--comforting, charming advice. It's gone. Forever.

Madame Pomfrey speaks to her, but it slides past her ears. Madame Pomfrey hands her a Sleeping Potion and Ginny gladly drinks it. She sleeps a dreamless sleep, and is glad for it.


The next morning, the departure to the Hogwarts Express. "What's wrong, Ginny?" Ron says as he pulls up his trunk. He looks her over, concerned. "You all right?"

"Yeah, I guess," she says. She runs her hand through her hair, surprised to hit tangles. She thought she'd brushed it well. Hmm. "Why?"

"You look a bit peaky," he says. "Are you sure you're all right?"

She smiles; the muscles in her face twitch, as if they're abused, or just too numb. "Ron, nothing's wrong. I'll be fine."

Ron slowly nods. "If you need anything, just tell me," he says. It's rare he's ever this concerned about her. She must look horrid.

She pulls a good facade of happiness; in a way, she's almost happy. The numbness is better than the all-out confusion, the suffering of what Tom made her do.

Then again.. Tom did listen like no one else did.

She closes her eyes and takes a bite of a Chocolate Frog. Silent. Vaguely happy, but silent.

"Hey, Ginny, come and play Exploding Snap!" Ron calls.

She goes, plays, smiles, laughs. But inside, she aches.

She craves.


She saves and she saves and she saves every Knut and Sickle she can. Plying her mother, bit by bit, to take her to the bookstore. She finds a leather-bound notebook almost exactly like the one Tom wrote to her in, the one he was bound to.

She writes in it immediately when she gets home.

It seems odd that I consider it mad to write into a diary that doesn't write back. Isn't that true? Well, let's just say I hope that this diary, I suppose, will suffice. If not, I'll have to save far too much loose change to afford another one.

Well, let's see. My name is Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I'm going to be a second year at Hogwarts. Most people call me Ginny. I have six older brothers, I'm the only girl.

My brother Percy's a prefect, he may even make Head Boy next year. Who knows? Fred and George are pranksters, and the explosions rarely stop in their room lately. I wonder what goes on in there, really?

Charlie works in Romania, with dragons. I haven't seen him for about a year or so. Bill works for Gringotts, and I haven't seen him for a while, either. Ron is the normal one, I suppose, though that's probably exaggerating. He's the one I'm closest to, probably because he's only a year older than me. His friends are good friends of mine, I suppose, too. Hermione Granger and Harry Potter.

She puts down the quill for a moment, and smiles to herself. This isn't so bad after all. Life goes on. She writes on, setting ink on paper that does not live. But paper should be good enough.