June 24, 1995

Dear Diary,

Blast, how do I keep these bloody words from disappearing? What is the point of a diary if I can't read what I wrote? The privacy precaution seemed like such a good idea at the time...

Anyway, today was a terrible day; even the acquisition of a body was bittersweet, but I'll get to that later.

The day started out well enough. The yearlong plot to kidnap Potter was going perfectly, though I was terribly impatient by this point; I was so looking forward to avada kedavraing his ass. It was Barty Crouch's idea to wait until the final task to bring Potter here. Had they done it my way, Potter would have arrived the moment Crouch got him alone, which he did on numerous occasions throughout the year, but that's Barty for you. So typical of him to have such a grandiose plan, but what could I do? I was just an ugly baby and still would be if it weren't for my MFS (most faithful servant). It did give the whole scheme a lovely story arch, though, and I have to admit I'm a sucker for the dramatics.

I'll get the full report from Crouch later, but the basic plan for today was to have Barty zap the rest of the champions in the maze since Potter had proven too incompetent to win on his own. Honestly, if he'd gotten any more help, Barty might as well have done the entire tournament for him. In fact, from what I hear, my MFS did do practically everything, but Potter still managed to botch it up in every way possible.

I can't believe this boy is supposed to be deemed my equal.

I had Nagini chase Wormtail around the graveyard while I waited. It was entertainment for me and much-needed exercise for him, a win-win situation. Finally, Potter appeared—Dumbledore's golden boy, aged fourteen. He'd certainly grown handsomer since I'd last seen him three years ago, though he had nothing on my good looks, back in the day. Funny, I didn't recall him having such light hair. And had he gotten contacts? Oh wait, that wasn't him. A twiggy little youth stood beside him. Ah, that was the one.

What an idiot. Admission to this gathering was strictly invite only, and he'd brought a friend.

No matter, though, I had the spare killed. Then I went to extra measures to ensure maximum intimidation. I had him tied to my father's headstone and made Wormtail cut off his entire hand, when all I really needed was some flesh—creepy, right? I know, sometimes I surprise myself with my ingenuity. Potter was trembling like the little pussy he is, even though he was trying for the whole "I'm an angry teen" attitude. So I killed his parents, get over it already!

I even called all my Death Eaters to come watch, thinking I'd make a little soiree of it. They didn't seem as thrilled as me, just sort of stood there looking scared and apologetic. I mean, after thirteen years without me, you'd think they'd at least pretend to have missed me. I didn't even get one hug.

I didn't let that dampen my mood for long, though. I was sure my MFS would give me a hug when we next met up. Perhaps we could do a lunch date, talk about the good old times and catch up. Er, maybe just the good old times part, seeing as how I spent the greater part of the last fourteen years roaming around half-dead, and he in Azkaban, slowly going mad. But the good times were so good, and there'd be more to come to make up for the wasted years.

So then I got my body and it seemed alright at first. It was tall and slender, as expected. Rather pale, but I figured that after I killed Harry tonight, a long holiday was long overdue—somewhere sunny, where I could get my tan on. Morale was sure to be low among the wizards once they learned their beloved hero was dead, and I'd still have plenty of time to take over the world after I'd caught some rays. Anyway, I'm sure the world would prefer a beautifully bronzed ruler to a sickly pallid one.

I challenged Potter to a duel and toyed with him for a bit because I could. Then I used the killing curse at the same time he used the disarming spell. (He's about to die and "expelliarmus" is his spell of choice? And they wonder why I don't take the boy seriously). From there, things got weird. Our spells collided and we floated up off the ground, with this spectacularly beautiful light show going on all around us.

I couldn't stop to admire it, though, because there were these pulsating beady things in the light connecting our wands. Potter pushed it to connect with my wand and all these ghostly people came out of them. They looked vaguely familiar and I opened my mouth to give them a friendly greeting, but then I realized where I remembered them from—they were the people I'd murdered.

Well, this was a rather awkward reunion for me. And to make things worse, they were all chatting with Potter, chumming up to him even though they'd come out of my wand. I found this rude, as he wouldn't have even met them if it weren't for me murdering them. I took this moment to look around me at the pretty lights, figuring it wouldn't matter if I let my attention wander for just one moment.

They suddenly mobbed me, and at first I thought it was because they had finally noticed me and were happy to see me, but then I glimpsed Potter getting away, and realized they'd been plotting while I was distracted. I shouted for my Death Eaters to catch him, but you know how they are. It's one of those generic requirements of henchmen—to have ridiculously horrible aim, and I wasn't about to go against that status quo when looking into prospective henchmen.

It was so frustrating to have Potter so close but lose him yet again. I should have just killed him and gotten it over with back when he was tied to my dad's headstone, but I was just having too much fun making his skin burn and watching him writhe in pain.

So anyway, I threw myself into flying leap in a valiant attempt to catch the boy, but he was already gone and I ended up tripping on a headstone and getting hit by one of Avery's spells. The humiliation was just too much and I couldn't take it anymore. I fled from the graveyard weeping.

After wallowing for a bit, I apparated to Hogsmeade with a new plan. Sure they'd all be too busy with the Potter boy whining about my return to notice one extra cloaked wizard wandering about, I waltzed right into Hogwarts and headed for the dumb boulder's office. I needed my diary—it had been my only source of comfort and best friend when I was younger.

I snagged this from his desk and quickly conjured a replacement diary, then fixed the destroyed pages of this one. As I sat down to write in here, I happened to glance at—

Crap, I think the dumb old door is coming. BRB, as they say.