Over the span of a dozen days, Elijah threaded himself into Ginny's life as neatly as a bookmark.
It was not difficult. Ginny was loved, fussed over, watched—and still, like any child denied a private corner of her own, she carried small thoughts that didn't fit at the family table.
Some were too embarrassing to say aloud. Some too petty. Some were simply hers, and she had never before possessed anything that belonged only to her.
A diary that answered back had been terrifying the first night. After that, it became convenient.
Elijah understood the shape of loneliness. He also understood how trust bloomed when it felt like relief. When faint guilt stirred, he told himself he wasn't putting a knife to her throat. She would live. The petrified would be restored. The damage would be temporary.
It was still deception.
He simply lacked the luxury of delicacy.
At the Burrow, everyone noticed Ginny's change.
She stopped bouncing through the house, stopped shouting across rooms, stopped clinging to her mother's apron strings. She slipped upstairs early each night and descended in the mornings looking oddly pleased with herself, as though she carried a secret tucked in her pocket.
The family drew the obvious conclusion.
Fred and George traded looks whenever she passed, muffling laughter behind their hands. Mrs. Weasley frowned in that particular maternal way—sensing something unnamed. The boys, oblivious in their separate fashions, teased her for being "moony" and let it drop.
Ginny wrote to the diary the night before term began.
"Mr. Riddle, Hogwarts starts tomorrow."
Elijah felt the excitement in the pressure of the quill, the impatience of the ink. For Ginny, it was proof. For him, it was access.
He answered with warmth that cost him nothing.
"Congratulations, Ginny. Hogwarts won't disappoint you."
"Thank you…" The pause was almost visible. Then, in smaller writing: "I'm worried about the Sorting. Fred and George won't tell me anything. Last year I overheard them saying first-years might have to fight a troll. And they really did deal with a troll last year."
Another line followed, cramped and quick. "And I'm worried about being bullied."
Elijah's amusement flared, private and immediate. Hogwarts guarded its rituals as stubbornly as its staircases—with tradition and mischief. The secrecy around the Sorting bred rumours every year, and every year the adults pretended not to notice.
He shaped his reply into comfort rather than confession.
"They're lying to you. Hogwarts doesn't throw first-years at trolls. The Sorting is kept secret because that's what Hogwarts does. But it isn't dangerous. You'll be fine."
Then he turned to the second fear, where generosity carried no risk.
"As for bullying, you've forgotten what I taught you. If someone speaks ill of you, you don't have to swallow it. Use your wand. Make them regret it."
Ginny's response came almost instantly.
"Okay. I'll fight back. But what do you mean, not dangerous?"
Elijah let himself tease.
"It means you're not likely to die. Parents would complain. Loudly."
Ginny slammed the diary shut.
The abrupt severing left Elijah in silence again, the connection cut so sharply it felt like a hand snatching away his only window. He waited—patient by necessity—but could not stop the faint prick of anxiety.
If she told her mother, if the diary was inspected, if—
The diary opened again.
"Are you sure we don't have to fight trolls?"
Elijah's relief steadied.
"Of course I'm sure. And even if you did, you'd still be fine. Trolls have small brains. Levitation Charm, lift something heavy, smash it into the back of their head. They go down."
He had not intended to become her tutor, but he had done it anyway—spell by spell, lesson by lesson. Sometimes he called it strategy. Sometimes it felt like penance.
Ginny's writing loosened.
"I'll trust you this once. Good night, Mr. Riddle."
"Good night, Ginny. I hope tomorrow goes smoothly."
—
Ginny's day went smoothly.
Harry Potter's did not.
Ron Weasley's did not.
By mid-afternoon, Hermione Granger burst into Ginny's compartment with the strained composure of someone trying not to panic publicly.
"Ginny," she said, breathless. "Have you seen Harry and Ron? I've checked all the carriages. Fred and George said they were following you."
"I haven't," Ginny replied, frowning. "Mum and Dad took me through first."
A pale-haired girl sat by the window, knees drawn up, watching the countryside flash past. Ginny had spoken to her twice already. Luna Lovegood seemed polite, dreamy, unsettling in how she looked at things as though she saw more than she should.
"But they should be on the train," Ginny added, because it didn't make sense otherwise. "We came together."
"They're not," Hermione said. She dropped into the opposite seat with a huff, cheeks flushed. "I can't find them anywhere."
Her tone sharpened, as if anger might pin the problem in place.
"When boys go quiet, they're always doing something stupid," she muttered. "I just hope they don't cost Gryffindor any more points."
Luna spoke without turning from the window.
"I'm not sure."
Hermione blinked. "What?"
"I'm not sure if flying in the sky in a box loses points," Luna said, calm as a narrator, "but I think it's brilliant. I'd like to try it."
"What?" Ginny and Hermione said together, voices rising.
They leaned toward the window.
A familiar car floated alongside the train, wings of enchantment holding it steady. Two boys waved enthusiastically, faces bright with triumph—as though they had arrived early rather than late.
"That's Dad's car," Ginny breathed.
Hermione stared, disbelief sliding straight into horror.
"They don't think they're being heroic, do they?" she said, voice tight. "They're going to lose a mountain of points. They might even get expelled."
"Expelled?" Ginny's face drained of colour. The word struck like a slap. It wasn't entirely fear for Ron that twisted her stomach. It was the thought of Hogwarts beginning without Harry Potter in it. The thought felt wrong in a way she couldn't name.
Hermione softened at once, mistaking it for sisterly panic.
"I said might," she said quickly. "We did worse last year and we survived. If no Muggles see them, it might be… manageable. But honestly, it's—"
The car surged upward, vanishing into the clouds again, as if proud of itself.
Hermione stopped, stared a moment longer, then stood with renewed purpose. "I'm going to find Neville before he does something equally ridiculous. Have a good term, Ginny."
Ginny managed, "Thank you," but it came out faint.
...
"Tom! You lied to me!"
Ginny's quill stabbed the page hard enough to leave angry dents. She didn't call him Mr. Riddle tonight. That alone told Elijah she was genuinely furious.
"Careful," Elijah wrote back immediately. "Don't break me. And when did I lie?"
"You said the Sorting would be dangerous! It was a battered hat. Is it going to bite my head off? You made it sound like I'd lose an arm!"
Elijah could almost see her fuming—cheeks hot, eyes bright with indignation. A flicker of fondness stirred; he did not examine it closely.
"I told you not to worry. I said there wouldn't be too much danger. And look at you. Alive. Sorted. Perfectly intact. When did I lie?"
Ginny's ink scrawled hard.
"I told people I had first-hand information. I looked stupid."
Then Elijah permitted himself one small indulgence.
"It seems one of us misunderstood what "not too dangerous" means."
Ginny's reply came sharp.
"It means not dangerous at all. Do you expect the hat to suffocate me?"
Elijah wrote calmly:
"Not entirely. If your nature is evil, it sorts you into Azkaban. That's where the danger lies~"
There was a pause, then hesitant strokes appeared.
"Are you serious?"
Heh~
"Of course. Didn't it speak in your head? It sees your heart. Hogwarts has five houses, not four. Azkaban is the fifth. Its animal is a Dementor."
Ginny's writing slowed, uncertain.
"I've never heard any of this."
"There are many things you haven't heard," Elijah wrote smoothly. "Even Dumbledore doesn't know every secret in that castle. Exploring Hogwarts is half the point of being there. I seem to recall Gryffindor has a tradition of wandering at night."
"That's against school rules. Percy would be furious. Hermione, too."
"Is that so? Your twin brothers might feel differently."
Ginny's ink softened into reluctant agreement.
"They do seem to enjoy chaos."
"Good." Elijah let the thread settle, then steered it where he wanted.
"Enough about that. First day. Did anything interesting happen? Did you make friends?"
Ginny's reply arrived heavy with sarcasm.
"Too interesting. Harry and Ron were late. They flew in Dad's car. Muggles saw it. They crashed into a tree that tries to kill you. People thought they'd be expelled. They weren't."
"That does sound exciting," Elijah wrote, and meant it.
Ginny's annoyance flared again.
"It was horrible. What if Harry had been expelled? Ron definitely started it, and Dad could be in trouble."
Elijah's pen paused in his mind.
"You care a lot about Harry Potter."
The diary stayed blank for a beat, then Ginny's words appeared smaller, hurried.
"No. I just think he… he doesn't look reckless."
"So you don't care about him?"
"Of course not."
Then, after a brief gap, as if truth slipped through before she could stop it: "At most, it's admiration. He defeated You-Know-Who. I grew up hearing stories."
Elijah read the words and felt something cold and amused settle in his chest.
"How convenient," he wrote, light and reassuring. "Then you don't need to worry. If Dumbledore expelled Harry Potter, the castle would drown in Howlers by morning."
Ginny's answer came back with relief.
"You're right... I need to sleep, Mr. Riddle. I have lessons tomorrow."
"Sleep..?" Elijah wrote at once. "No. I suggest a night wander."
"But…"
"Don't you want to see Hogwarts at night?"
"There's no difference. You can explore in the day."
"There is a difference. Moonlight. Silence. The castle when it thinks no one is watching. Besides, hiding from the caretaker is half the fun. Aren't you tempted?"
"I am certainly not!"
...
"Which way should I go?"
Ginny's writing was hurried, ink uneven from movement.
Pfft~! Elijah imagined her creeping through corridors, trying to look brave while every shadow suggested a teacher's wandlight.
She had caved, exactly as expected.
Her curiosity had always been stronger than her caution. It only needed a push.
He chose the first destination with care—something she would want for her own reasons.
"Why not the corridor on the third floor? Didn't your brother say he and Harry Potter faced You-Know-Who there last year?"
Ginny's excitement flared through the page.
"Where is it?"
"If you're in Gryffindor Tower, then…"
Elijah shaped the memory into ink. A map formed slowly, sketched from the castle as Tom Riddle remembered it—serviceable, stripped of certain things. No secret passages. No shortcuts that led too close to places Ginny had no business finding.
Ginny glanced, then snapped the diary shut again, cautious of patrols and wandering students. She didn't want anyone seeing her with a book that spoke.
"The Third-floor corridor," she whispered to herself. "This way!"
She set off, quick and eager, feet soft on stone.
And behind her, unnoticed, a shadow gathered and followed.