Why Don't You Know Anything?

Late that night, the guest room at Rowle Manor was so quiet that only the occasional low call of a night bird drifted in from the valley outside.

Gavin sat at the desk. A magical lamp cast just enough light over the Old Black Leather Notebook lying open before him.

He had not opened its cover yet.

First, he needed to prepare: dress up his memories and make himself more like a student about to enter his second year.

Voldemort's Horcrux deserved that much respect.

Gavin took several deep breaths and settled his emotions and thoughts. The role he was playing was—

A Muggle-born student who was constantly bullied at Hogwarts.

He opened the notebook.

The first page was blank. The parchment had yellowed with age, but its surface was still smooth, without a trace of mold or insect damage.

Perhaps the Horcrux's magic was protecting it.

He dipped his quill in ink and held its tip above the page for a moment.

He adjusted his expression—

To help himself get into character—

Then put quill to paper.

"I have to go back to Hogwarts. Ernie's going to bully me again. Why doesn't anyone like me? Why does everyone shut me out?!"

The ink sat on the page for an instant, then sank in.

The paper had not absorbed it. It was as though something had opened its mouth on the other side and swallowed the writing, ink and all.

The page was blank again, dry and without the slightest trace of moisture.

Gavin feigned astonishment, turning the notebook back and forth as though curious where the ink had gone.

Then new writing surfaced on the blank page.

It was not his handwriting.

The letters were thinner and taller, each stroke ending in an old-fashioned cursive hook, like something from