The Legacy of Salazar

Dear Tom

Ginny Weasley returned to her senses with a sickening lurch, stumbling back on trembling legs.

She stood alone in the dormitory washroom, staring at her pale reflection. It happened again. It happened again. It happened again. Her heart fluttered in her chest, sharp spines stabbing against her ribs. Her eyes took in the red—the vibrant, terrible hue staining her fingers and glistening down the front of her robes.

She couldn't breathe.

Her hands sought the sink for support, her stomach heaving with food she didn't remember eating. Paint splattered against porcelain, and she shut her eyes so she didn't have to watch it trace crimson spider-webs down the drain.

It wasn't blood. It wasn't blood. It wasn't blood.

She repeated the words until she could open her eyes again. It wasn't blood. It didn't have the iron smell. It was just paint. Just paint. But how had it ended up on her robes? Why was it all over her hands?

She forced herself to take slow breaths, in through her nose and out through her mouth. She could hear the air quiver on its way out. She could feel every part of her shaking; feel the chilling sweat on her forehead.

What happened?

She feverishly washed her hands—twice—three times before peaking out of the lavatory. Her dorm was empty. In a blur of red, she raced to her trunk and grabbed a fresh change of clothes, dressing at break-neck speed. She then took the stained robes back to the bathroom, throwing them into the sink and dousing them in cold water.

She washed the robes as long as she dared, then squeezed the water out and threw them onto the pile to be laundered, hoping she'd managed remove all the paint.

What had she done?

She could hear a commotion down in the common room now, and after a final glance at her hands to make sure they were clean, she headed down the stairs.

The force of raised conversation nearly blew her back. Everyone was in an uproar. She could see Ron arguing passionately with Hermione Granger—no big surprise there—but Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan were with him, and Fred and George with Hermione. And the entire Gryffindor house surrounded them, voices elevated in fury and anxiety.

Colin Creevey spotted her and pushed his way through the crowd, his eyes wider than she'd ever seen.

"Did you hear?" he had to shout to be heard. "Merlin Evans opened the Chamber of Secrets and attacked Mrs Norris!"

"What?"

"Yeah! He wrote a message on the wall! We saw him!"

Ginny stared at him, and then stared at the commotion before her. She could just hear Ron's furious yell amid the cacophony.

"YOU KNEW HE WAS A PARSELMOUTH?"

Ginny felt unsteady on her legs again. Merlin? But that didn't make sense. None of it made sense. She turned on her heel and raced back up the stairwell, taking two at a time.

The bloody hell was going on?

She found her bag at the foot of her four-poster and practically wrenched open the diary, her fingers stiff with panic and confusion. She sprayed blotches of ink across the blankets in her haste, and dripped excess onto the pages as she scribbled in an uncharacteristically untidy scrawl:

Dear Tom, I don't know what I did during Halloween but a cat was attacked and I've got paint all down my front.

She took a shaky breath, and continued:

They're saying the Chamber of Secrets has been opened, and Merlin is to blame!

Ginny, calm down. Why would they say that?

He was seen in the corridor! He's a PARSELMOUTH, Tom!

Ginny watched as her words faded into the parchment, and for a long moment, nothing happened. She ran her fingers over the parchment, each second a reply didn't appear another she didn't breathe. What was taking him so long? And then, finally, he answered.

Ginny, tell me everything you know about Merlin Evans.