Disclaimer: Harry Potter is the property of J.K Rowling, I do not own it, I never have, and I never will.
1: Voldemort and the London Underground.
Dear Diary,
I have been told that it is stimulating to keep track of one's thoughts, so you are the vessel in which I shall contain them. If betray my trust I will avarda cardva you.
Today I met my underlings; they were speechless like I was a noseless, white, wizarding Louis Armstrong. We went to a charming little café in Knockturn Alley; I believe it was called Mudblood's Must Die. We came just in time to see the Muggle Bating. One spilled my tea, my BLACK TEA, black like my soul fragments. But you didn't hear about that, did you diary? Shhhhhhhh.
I felt better after Bellatrix bought me some apple strudel. She tried to feed me, and I shouted.
'Back off you ugly slapper, I can feed myself!'
It was then I noticed Lucius sitting across from us, his silvery hair like moonlight and his rosy lips, ones that reminded me of sweet nothings whispered between satin sheets on stormy nights. Our pasty, lean bodies entwined in timeless passion, it gives me a big alabaster lob on just thinking about it.
We started to talk about evil things to do to Harry Potter, like taking his glasses, pulling his pants down and laughing, or yelling nasty things like 'Your parents are dead', and 'you're neither attractive or talented; unlike me I am both.
My slender body and lack of a facial deformity commonly known as a nose is considered most fetching. It was decided our next evil meeting would be somewhere more dastardly, somewhere filled with human suffering, misery and humiliating like a Uganda or Oprea's house. I hate her; I am more of a Dr Phil Man myself.
Once I entered filthy muggle London, I realised someone (Mostly likely Dumbledork, and the Order of the Phoenix) had clamped my land broom. Or as ignorant muggle's call it a Vesper. They left no identification, except a set or numbers, they said to call them. I shouted then and there, and no one arrived.
A large crowd had gathered, at this point I noticed a chav, who called me a 'mong' so I crucioed him, for over an hour while I pondered what to do. I decided with a heavy heart that I would delve into the unparalleled horror of the public transport system. After killing the chav, and cleverly hiding his body a conveniently placed ravine, one of many in London. I took his attire, and placed them on my alabaster limbs irresistible to the touch, as my fashionable robe would cause a stir, and I was wearing no under garments. I immediately decided I despised tracksuit pants, and have made them against the Death Eater dress code. I gave the chav one last kick, and headed for the train station.
I duelled with a ticket barrier, for a good half an hour. I heard a woman tell her spawn that I was 'A very special man' even obese muggles know that I am exceptionable. A bloated donut hole, or as local call them 'Wankers' asked where my ticket was. I informed him that I was his better, and didn't need a ticked, then called him a muggle, and spat in his face. He then incited fisticuffs, how Neolifific. At this point I remembered I could apperate. So I kicked him in the balls, raised my wand and apperated away, no doubt leaving many stunned muggle, and even a few mildly aroused, at such a display of raw power, I tend to have this effect on people. It's not easy being an unwilling sex symbol, but somehow I manage.
Yours truly the Dark Lord Voldemort.
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