The Legacy of Salazar

The Forgotten Book

Sometimes Ginny Weasley wished she'd been born a boy.

Not that she disliked being a girl—she was rather proud of being the only girl among six brothers. It made her feel special. At the same time though, she hated the way they excluded her from their games, as though girls were somehow inferior when it came to gnome tossing or Quidditch. Course, she was going to shove it in their stupid faces later when she became Quidditch Captain—but that's beside the point.

At least she got her own room.

It had previously belonged to Bill before he'd left for Egypt. He'd left behind some odds and ends—couple posters of ancient wizarding tombs, a blood-red throw pillow, some stale Bertie Bots Every Flavor Beans, and a couple of matchless socks. She planned to stitch a dragon onto the pillow when she could do it justice. Her skill with a needle wasn't great. Maybe Charlie could make her a pattern—he kept sending her dragon sketches. Anyway, Percy got Charlie's old room across the hall as a reward for becoming Prefect. Which meant Ron ended up with his own room too, but Ginny thought he kinda deserved it after living with Percy for so long.

Her door closed, Ginny leaned against the wood and listened to Mum telling off Dad for fighting at the bookstore.

"Really Arthur, what were you thinking? And stopped by a boy Ron's age—"

She stared at the ceiling, resting her head against the door and no doubt annoying the Holly Head Harpy poster that she'd pinned to it. She couldn't help but feel somewhat responsible for what'd happened at Flourish and Blots, even though everyone had assured her otherwise.

"Malfoy was looking for a fight," George had told her as they'd walked back to the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron. "And he's the one who took your book first, isn't he?"

"With Dad's new legislation passing, he's probably in trouble. What's the bet he's got some dark artifacts from his Death Eater days still in the cupboards?"

Still, Ginny couldn't help but think that nothing would've happened if she hadn't been there. It was stupid, but now Mum was yelling at Dad and her gut churned uncomfortably at the sound. And how Merlin had stopped the fight? Well, that was something else entirely.

She didn't know much about Merlin. Fred and George seemed to like him a lot and talked about their adventures constantly. During last year, Ron had complained about him and his friendship with Fred and George. It's like they don't even know he's Slytherin! But the more Ron had ranted, the more Ginny had started to agree with Fred and George. He didn't sound like any of the Slytherins their parents had told them about. It sounded like the twins were the ones corrupting Merlin, what with sneaking him out of the castle and getting him involved in their shenanigans. At the time, her one memory of Merlin had been that of his smiling face as he waved goodbye to her through the train window.

A rather cute smile...

Now she didn't know what to think. Ron had mentioned how Merlin had collapsed a bookshelf in the library, and Fred let slip that Merlin had somehow exploded a broomstick but she'd never been able to picture him as a powerful wizard. She'd only imagined someone like Ron cowering while Quirrell advanced—not the display of wandless magic she'd just witnessed at Flourish and Blots.

After Merlin had left the bookstore, everyone had been too stunned to say anything about it. Fred and George had picked up Merlin's dropped books and run after him with that other girl, Hermione. Ron had complained about her friendship with Merlin too. And about her know-it-all behavior. Maybe he liked her. Anyway, Mum had finished paying for all their books while Lockhart tried to rope Dad into an impromptu interview and photo-shoot—unsuccessfully—then they'd left. Fred and George had met them outside, ice cream lingering about their identical smiles, but no one had talked about Merlin and his magic.

Except for her mother while yelling at her father.

Maybe she'd talk to Merlin herself on the Hogwarts express—ask him what he'd done. Shaking her head, Ginny pushed off her door and glanced toward her pile of textbooks strewn haphazardly across her bed. She hadn't planned on opening them until term started but even Ron had recommended taking a look at her potions textbook beforehand. The professor liked to quiz students the first day and was merciless if you didn't know the correct answer. Unless, of course, you were Slytherin and somehow Ginny doubted she was destined for that house.

Call it a Weasley hunch.

Figuring that she should at least organize her books—maybe throw a couple of them into her trunk and be done with it—she sat down on the edge of her mattress and started grabbing each volume in turn, glancing at the first few pages before setting it down on the floor in a neat pile.

But as she went to add her transfiguration book to the growing stack, a second, much smaller volume fell onto her bedspread. Ginny stared at it, looking from her transfiguration book to the dark cover with confusion. She'd gotten most her textbooks used so—so someone must have forgotten it or something. She picked up the black leather-bound book and thumbed through the pages.

It was blank.

On the back, someone had inscribed the name Tom Marvolo Riddle in gold lettering. But whoever this Riddle was, he hadn't bothered to use the diary at all. Or journal—she wasn't sure what the difference was. But... Ginny hesitated, running her hand over the slightly yellow pages again.

She's always wanted a diary. She'd considered starting one several times, asking Mum to pick up a blank book for her while out shopping. She never had because asking for such a selfish object had made her feel guilty—she wasn't blind, she knew their family had money problems. But she liked the idea of being able to write about her worries, her frustrations, the little things she noticed of life—the things she'd never been able to talk to Mum about. Last year had been the first time she'd gotten Mum all to herself but by then she'd learned how to deal with things on her own. Mum had always been sorting out some catastrophe her brothers' had caused, so when she'd finally gotten the change to talk about girl things, she found she didn't know how.

She'd never been particularly open with her feelings anyway.

But a diary? She could vent all she wanted—it was the perfect thing for her. Grinning, she lept off her bed and went to her desk, pulling out a feather quill and an inkbottle. She opened the diary to the first page and sucked on her quill, wondering how best to begin.

Dear Diary,

I'm Ginny Weasley. I'll be starting Hogwarts this year, so I thought it might be a good time to start keeping a diary. Never too early, as Dad likes to say.

She paused, re-reading what she'd written. Maybe she'd write about the incident at Flourish and Blots, get her thoughts straight before she talked to Merlin. But, before she could bring the quill back to the page, her words started to disappear.

Ginny froze, watching transfixed as the sentences sunk into the parchment, leaving it just as clean as before. Was—was that supposed to happen? She held her quill suspended above the page, racking her brain for some explanation as to why the diary had just eaten her words when suddenly words started to reappear. But they weren't hers.

Hello Ginny Weasley,

I'm Tom Riddle. How did you come by my Diary?

She couldn't breathe. Now that definitely wasn't supposed to happen. She stared at the beautiful script, a small voice at the back of her head saying that she should probably tell her father, and stop writing this instant. The diary was enchanted (and possibly dangerous). But—but it didn't' feel dangerous, she argued, watching as the letters faded away again. And she wanted to talk to someone, anyone, so badly. She closed her eyes and gritted her teeth. What was the worst that could happen?

It was just a diary.

Oh, hello.

Someone forgot you in one of my textbooks—Transfiguration if you were curious. But it looks like your mine now. Can I tell you about my day, Tom? It was pretty crazy and I don't know what to make of it.

Of course. That's what I'm here for.

Okay. It begins with this boy named Merlin—