June 25, 1995

Dear Diary,

My MFS has been kissed!

Hm. I wonder what would happen if a dementor kissed me, seeing as how my soul is split in seven so it'd only really have access to the one little part. Maybe I'll give it a try, since I've never been kissed. Or maybe I'll ask Bella to kiss me once I spring her from Azkaban. That's my next plan of action and I'm quite excited for it—I do so love adventures.

But back to Barty, about whom I'm devastated. I don't know why Dumbledore insists on ruining my life at every turn. I could deal with his dooming my career all those years ago when he refused to give me a teaching position, though I don't understand why he turned me down. I mean, I'm great with children.

But delving into my personal life and messing with my Death Eaters—that was just plain cold. My MFS was the closest thing I've ever had to a friend, other than my dear diary, of course. Well, I suppose Barty was more of a slave, but the point is that Dumbledore has now destroyed the two closest relationships I have ever had, the cruel, cruel man. Whatever am I to do without my MFS—our lunch date plans are ruined and everything's just gone horribly wrong...

I am NOT cr—oops I meant to say that out loud.

By the way, I snuck into the Slytherin dormitories and am in my old bed right now, which happens to be the Malfoy boy's, Dragon or something. Stupid name if you ask me, but then again his father is an imbecile, and I can't very well hold that against the boy. He's sniveling in an armchair right now, sulking the loss of his bed.

But I certainly wasn't crying. I heard Crabbe and Goyle's kids muttering to each other that it looked as though I was crying, so I yelled, "I am NOT crying, you fools!" Because I am the Dark Lord and a dark lord does not cry, otherwise he wouldn't be much of a dark lord at all.

I don't think they quite realize who I am, and so are rather oblivious to the fact that I could reduce them to ash with the flick of my wand. I didn't think there was anyone dumber than Crabbe and Goyle, but their sons are sure giving them a run for their money.

I feel almost as though I'm hanging out with miniature Death Eaters, actually, except that they're even more pathetic than their fathers. I'm still angry with Lucious. Maybe I'll take this opportunity to mess with his kid as punishment. Oh wait, I was talking about something else. Later, then. Stupid brats are such a distraction.

So my MFS will be of no help to me now. I heard Dumbledore talking to the portraits about what happened. He had to wake them up first since I'd charmed them all to sleep when I entered, but he didn't notice anything else to indicate I'd been there. I left Dumbledore's around midnight and swung by Barty Crouch's office to pick up his report on his time at Hogwarts, which I'll add in here after this excerpt.

Right, Dumbledore had interrupted me right when I was about to say something important. Even manages to ruin my life without meaning to, that man. Now where was I? If this stupid diary didn't erase all my words the moment I wrote them then I'd be able to go back and find out. As it is, I've got a lot on my mind these days; being the Dark Lord is no small task, so having the words I write remain visible is the least I could ask for. Let me think...

Ah yes, I sat down and glanced at one of the doodads on his desk, jumping at the portrait of an ugly face set in a silver frame. Most of Dumbledore's gadgets are pretty cool, but the face made me cringe to look at. It had pale grey skin with slits for eyes that were red and eerie, and the nose was completely flat. As I leaned forward to inspect it, I realized it was my own face looking back at me in a mirror.

I'd once been beautiful, but now I looked hideous! I used to have these luscious, silky black locks—and not the greasy lank sort that Severus Snape has. Snape was a no-show at my little party tonight, by the way, but maybe it's a good thing because that man disgusts me. I can scarcely stand near him without gagging, and trust me, I am familiar with and highly tolerant of unpleasant things. But Snape manages to go beyond my limits—I can even sense the filthiness of the man through occlumency. It's as though he makes a conscious effort to repel people.

I'm considering instilling a hygiene protocol for my Death Eaters, actually; I need them looking fresh if they're to keep a good reputation whilst helping me take over the world. Although, considering my grotesque new looks, perhaps they should adopt the Snape way instead, so that I look better in comparison.

I suppose my looks could be to my advantage—intimidation factor and all. Oh, who am I kidding! My looks were my favourite part of myself and what I was most looking forward to when I got my new body. How will I ever get Bella to give me a kiss looking as I do?

It's well past midnight now, so I'm going to sleep. It has been a very stressful day and a dark lord needs his beauty rest, though I doubt it'll do me much good now since I haven't got any beauty le—

Excuse me, I had to go hex Crabbe or Goyle's son—can't actually tell them apart. They were staring at me because I began to sob, erm, cough loudly. I'll have to talk to Crabbe and Goyle Sr. about their children's manners. It's not polite to stare, especially when one is overcome with an unavoidable emotional, uh, coughing fit. And I should also speak to Malfoy about his crybaby pansy son. Honestly, he's much too old to be crying as he is.

This is why I avoid slobbery little brats at all costs. I'll just have to put up with them until tomorrow morning and then I'm off. They had better not snore. Well, good night.

I wonder if one of these mini Death Eaters might lend me a set of pyjamas for the night...