Finding the Crumple-Horned Snorkack
19th of February: Journal of Ms. Lovegood
The National Wizarding Institute of Natural History have finally agreed to finance my expedition to the Amazon. At last, I can continue where my father ended, and clear his name of the ridicule he was forced to bear during his quest. The Crumple-Horned Snorkack must be somewhere in the Brazilian jungles; the one place my father never managed to explore. I can just imagine it frolicking amongst the trees, in search of dingleberries and Nargle eggs. Nothing could be more glorious than finally seeing the Crumple-Horned Snorkack with my own eyes, and I hope this expedition will prove to be fruitful.
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I am so busy with preparations that I almost forgot to water the dirigible plums. Father would have been disappointed in me. They were his favourites; after dinner he would always proclaim that dirigible plums were the best cure for brain warts (being caused, as everyone knows, by an imploding sneeze. I think this might be the first lesson father ever taught me: one must never let a sneeze implode, so sneezing in our household was always an affair of great noise and celebration; any sneeze that did not surpass the decibel level of a mildly excited banshee was a sneeze that could potentially cause brain warts). Of course, father has passed away for a while now, but I still think of him from time to time.
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I wonder if I should bring some jars of fermented gulping plimpie. They might prove useful if I ever run out of food on the expedition; plimpies are delicious and very nutritious indeed. I remember Ronald Weasley from back at school expressing doubt at this once, so I made him try them. He was so convinced I was right in fact, that he did not ever try them ever again!
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I have just received an owl from the National Wizarding Institute of Natural History and I am not pleased. Apparently they are sending a wizard to accompany me on my expedition. His name is Rolf Scamander and he is the grandson of Newt Scamander. I have heard of his work before, and it is nothing like his grandfather's genius; he is flashy and unprofessional, and has no respect for the creatures which he documents. I should have known the elders at the Institute of Natural History would not allow me to go on my own. They already looked down upon me for being a woman in a male-centric field of knowledge, and for having a father like Xenophilius Lovegood.
I am so upset that I have packed my mother's diadem for comfort. I hope I shall not need it.