Author's note: So, hey. This is my first time posting a fan fic on here, but not my first attempt at writing them. I also have a completed original novel and stuff on another site called Wattpad. This story is also posted on there, so don't be alarmed if you come across it. For anyone interested, my works can be found here: .com/CrazyKindaGurl So yeah, I guess just enjoy and review and whatever, still trying to find my way around this site so bear with me. Will update soon. :D
In Love With a Memory.
Prologue: The Diary.
Rose Weasley looked up at her reflection, examining her features. It was a dreary Friday afternoon in mid October and she was in the girl's bathroom on the third floor. She knew that back in her parents' days, it was completely deserted due to the haunting of Moaning Myrtle. Although the ghost herself had not been seen since the day Lord Voldemort had been defeated, many people still saw the bathroom as a desolate place and chose to opt out of using it.
Rose however, had been visiting it frequently since day one of her education, whether it was to use its services or merely to think for a while. Six years on, she seemed to be using it much more than before.
The girl sighed. The beginning of her seventh year had been more than stressful. Her parents had split up over the summer-Ron's constant carefree attitude and refusal to care about anything had finally driven Hermione to her wits end.
This break-up could not have come at a worse time. Rose was due to start her N.E.W.T.S when she returned, and she knew from her older cousins that this year would be her hardest. Her younger brother Hugo was due to start his fifth year, which also meant the beginning of his O.W.L.S. Both children were upset by this development and that had led to very noticeable changes in their personalities. Hugo had gone completely off the rails-in the short time since their return to Hogwarts, he had been given at least a week and a half of detentions, been sent to the headmistress' office twice and lost at least fifty points for his house. He had also started spending his time with some Slytherin six years, which displeased Rose greatly.
As for Rose herself, she had done the opposite of her brother. Previously, she had been a bubbly, cheeky girl. She had her mother's brain yes, but not her endearing attitude that she must work all day, every day. She used to know how to have fun. Now, all she did was work , quietly too. She was withdrawn, rarely seen in the company of others and noticeably pale. She hardly spoke to anyone now and when she did, little about her feelings were given away. Her friends mostly left her alone, not knowing what to say or do to help. The splitting up of parents was rare in the Wizarding world, and Rose had found herself getting almost as many looks and whispers as she imagined her Uncle Harry would have done in his school days.
The only person whom had stuck with Rose throughout the whole time was Scorpius Malfoy. Son of her father's previous arch enemy, it was ironic that they would get together. But he was hot, caring and very charismatic. Rose didn't care if he was a Slytherin-he was her Slytherin. Despite the hard work and family troubles Rose was facing, he never failed to put a slight smile on her face, even now.
Her reflection showed this, the corners of her mouth twitching. It lit up her features, enhancing her natural beauty that was fighting to shine through. Rose could see it-the happiness buried beneath the mask. It was just a matter of how to get it to reveal itself again.
Rose's deep thoughts were interrupted by a loud bang from the corner of the bathroom, followed by a splat as whatever it was hit a small puddle of water on the floor. Rose whirled around instantly, her wand drawn instinctively. There might not have been a war in her time, but her genes taught her to always be on guard.
Rose's eyes scanned the still-empty room, looking for the culprit. After her initial defensive reaction, she was surprised when at first, nothing caught her eye. Eventually though, as her heartbeat returned to normal, her gaze fell upon an old, battered black book. The pages were more than tattered, though the oddest factor of all was this; a large, gaping hole in the front cover, as though someone had stuck something sharp directly through it.
Rose, looking around once more, walked towards it and picked it up. She leafed through it, realizing it was a diary. Not only that, but it was empty. The pages were untouched; not damp, nor even ruined by the hole that seemed to have stayed solely on the cover. She flicked, further and further until she reached the back page and there, in small, slanted writing, surrounded in a flurry of hearts were the words;
This diary belongs to Ginevra Weasley.