Blame it on the Nargles | George Weasley x Fem Reader

32

I don't know what this is or what to do about it. I've never felt like this about anyone before...

I looked up as a couple of first-years tumbled through the common room door, giggling as they scurried off to the dormitories. I tilted the notebook closer to myself and looked back down at the page as I heard the dormitory door close behind them. The page was empty. Confused, I ruffled through a few, thinking I had lost my place, but I was met with page after page of blank paper. 

Suddenly, a scrawled line of ink became visible and I peered closer, expecting my own handwriting, but I pulled back after reading the text.

"Perhaps I can be of service. What's troubling you?"

I stared at the sentences, confused. Before I could begin to think of a reason as to what was going on, the text disappeared, as if it were being sucked back into the pages of the diary. In awe, I held my quill above the paper. A drop of ink beaded and fell to the page where it quivered in place for a moment before disappearing into the paper as well.

Hello? What's going on?

I scribbled the question and waited, watching it soak into the ivory pages.

"Hello. My name is Tom Riddle, and this is my diary. Who are you?"

The words formed in the place where mine had disappeared. Feeling a surge of curiosity, I threw caution to the wind and dipped my quill into the ink once more.

Hi, Tom, I'm Y/N Lovegood. How does your diary work?

"It's magic, Y/N. I'm sure you're familiar with magic, are you not? This journal once belonged to me, and now my memory has been preserved inside of it" 

I bit my lip. I knew nothing of how this diary worked nor who Tom Riddle was, but he this was just a notebook. Nothing bad could happen just from writing in a notebook, right? Again, I lowered my quill to the page.

I'm a second-year at Hogwarts. What do you mean about your memory? How old are you?

"Ah, Hogwarts," The words bubbled up on the page "I was a student there as well, though it has been a while. 47 years now, I believe. When I was sixteen, I put a piece of my soul into this diary so that I could live on in its pages if something were to happen to my physical body,"

This was magic I had never heard of, but I suppose that wasn't saying much, seeing as how little magical teaching I had had in my life. 

Wow, that's really smart. How did you do that?

I held my breath as I watched my words melt away.

"That is a story for a different time, and besides, I want to hear about you. You said you were confused. What's wrong?"

I felt a strange relief wash over me. I had been dying to tell someone how I felt but was afraid for anyone in my real life to know. Now I had a secret listener, a pen-pal preserved in a journal, fifty years away from me. It was exactly what I needed.