Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters in this story, nor do I own any characters mentioned in this story. They all belong to the brilliant mind of J.K. Rowling. In addition, all events in this story are based on the events that occurred in the Harry Potter books by J.K. Rowling. Also, many of the ideas in the story are my sister's, as we originally started writing this story together. Some of the entries are my own, but those will come later on.
There are a few concepts in here that some people might not like. Voldemort talks of death and killing very lightly, but, come on, this is Voldemort. Still, if you don't think you'd appreciate that kind of talk very much, I don't know if I'd recommend reading this story.
In addition, there are some references to The Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, and Disney's The Emperor's New Groove.
Sorry for the long disclaimer. Here we go.
Year: 1991
Date: September 22
I am living in a turban. It is purple and not pleasant smelling. How I am able to write I myself do not know. I do not trust this Quirrel fellow, but I am now closer to Potter. I will get him this year, although Quirrel does seem very weak to me. Whenever we speak, he cowers and sobs.
Date: October 31
Ah, Halloween. I convinced Quirrel to let a troll into the dungeon to divert everyone's attention while he goes to collect the Sorcerer's Stone. He, of course, was not smart enough to think of this himself. I will later write how my venture goes. I also wonder where my old diary went. With it, I could open the Chamber of Secrets again. Not even Quirrel knows that I was the one to open it.
October 31, (cont.)
He failed. I knew he would fail. Why did I trust that ugly git? I guess it was not entirely his fault. A greasy-haired fellow stopped him. I believe he was one of my Death Eaters, but because of the smell of this turban, I seem to not be able to recall the fellow's name. Perhaps I will yell at Quirrel. That is always fun. We will try again to get the Stone. Until next time, which may never come because of this horrid smell.
November 10:
Today we attempted to kill Potter. Quirrel tried to get him off of his broom while he played Quidditch. He, of course, did not succeed. That greasy-haired fellow tried to mutter a counter curse, but I do not know why as I have heard he does not like the Potter family at all. Quirrel will get his, and I will be the one to punish him. His insolence will get the better of him one day; however, he is my only hope as of now to regain my POWER. After I get the Sorcerer's Stone, I will dispose of Quirrel. The plan failed because a bushy-haired young lass knocked down Quirrel as she set fire to the greasy haired fellow's-here after known as Greasy-robes. I believe she thinks that Greasy is the culprit. I will make Quirrel encourage this if anyone else discovers the secret.
November 24:
Sorry Diary, I have been a bit busy, what with scolding Quirrel about his stupidity at the Quidditch match. I do realize that it was not really his fault, but it is fun to yell at him all the same. Now, today we tried to poison Potter. When I asked Quirrel (who's name I have been spelling incorrectly, although I really do not care) if he was ready with the poison, he responded, "Right, the poison, the poison for Harry, the poison especially chosen to kill Harry, Harry's poison. That poison, right?" I replied, "Yes, that poison, you insolent fool. Now, pour it into his drink." Unfortunately for me, I have Quirrel on my side, and of course, the stupid git did not pour it into Harry's drink, he left the bottle next to his seat. Greasy picked it up and drank it, but it did not kill him because he already had an antidote for it in his dungeon. Well, next time, perhaps. I want REVENGE. And I do not mean on Potter, only, but on Greasy, for leaving me and for DRINKING MY POISON.
Nov. 30
I do not really know what is happening. The smell of the turban has made everything a bit queasy for me. Greasy seems to be very unhappy. Perhaps he is always like that, but because of the smell, I cannot remember much, as I have said. I will get Greasy. He is becoming very nosy. What is worse is that his nose is very large. Quirrel is being a insolent fool as usual, and he cowers even more. I have spent my days trying to recall Greasy's name with the occasional lecturing of Quirrel. I think I will stop trying for a while, as I have grown quite fond of calling this fellow Greasy. I have also been waiting to get that Potter. His bushy-haired young friend seems to be almost as much of a bother as Greasy. He also has a red-haired young friend. He seems to be scared of me. Good, I like that. That girl is about as smart as Quirrel is dumb, and Greasy is greasy. Well, I must yell at Quirrel some more, so until next time.
December 15:
Today, I have found yet another target. Actually, I have found two. They are two redheaded young fellows by the names of Fred and George Weasley. They bewitched some snowballs to hit me in the face. I did not like it. Now, they shall pay. They are friends with Potter. They are more targets for me. Oh, and we must never forget Greasy. He is a target as well. I assume that Greasy will be getting a lot of shampoo and conditioner for Christmas. I will be getting Quirrel nothing. I have one very secret confession to make, no one yet knows of this... but I will wait until later.
December 25
Well, it is Christmas. A time of, ewwww, celebration. Potter stayed at the school with those stupid Weasleys. They had a snowball fight. I made sure Quirrel steered clear of it. I did not want to be attacked again. Potter gave Greasy a Christmas present. It was a bottle of shampoo. I do not think that Greasy liked it very much. When Quirrel and I were walking in the dungeons, the shampoo bottle came and hit me in the head. Another reason to get revenge on Greasy. I do not think that either of them will speak of this, ever. I do not think anyone noticed, but Quirrel and I went into Hogsmeade and Apparated into a far off place called New York. We saw "A Christmas Carol". That Charles Dickens had a brilliant beginning. I loved that Scrooge character, at the beginning. But Dickens is not one for endings. Scrooge became good at the end. What's up with that? Oh no, I am picking up American slang. Perhaps if I yell at Quirrel, I will get my old English back. Now it is time for me to reveal my confession. I like to sing. What do you think I do when Quirrel is teaching? I do enjoy yelling at him, but I do have manners. I will not yell at him in front of his class.