Okay....I was going to write some more in the Marauder Era, but I just realized....most of the people in ME who would write notes to Voldemort died before they realized how much they hated him. And when you're dead, you can't write notes (unless, of course, you're a zombie--in which case you don't really have a functional brain and therefore can't write a coherent note to the person who killed you). So I'm going to jump ahead to the end of second year, after Harry's battle with Tom Riddle and the Basilisk (hmm...nice band name, that) in the Chamber of Secrets.
Words rarely fail me. I have always been the first student to finish an essay, and I often recieved the highest score in the class. Even when Fred and George put a snake in my bed or a mouse in my robes, I always find just the words to get them in trouble with Mum.
Not today. After what happened to Ginny, I find it hard to speak. The details she recounted circle my mind like vultures, and the quill trembles in my hand. Not with fear--no, the terror is over--but rage.
I draw a few quick breaths. My hand steadies enough to pen the introduction:
Dear Tom Riddle aka
I cross out the aka. I cannot bring myself to write his other name, no matter how hard I try.
What in Merlin's name made you think possessing and killing an eleven-year-old girl was acceptable in any sense of the word?
Words come to mind more quickly than I can write them. If I think of Tom Riddle not as You-Know-Who and instead as a boy my age, it's easier to rant and rave. I can yell at a sixteen-year-old Slytherin. I can't yell at You-Know-Who.
I don't know what issues you have, but I can see they must be pretty severe--especially since the girl in question happens to be my only sister.
My only sister almost died. If I could find him now....
If I could find you now, I would grab you by the collar, wrap my hands around your spindly neck, and choke you until your muddy brown eyes popped out of your skull. Fortunately for you and unfortunately for me, Harry Potter drove a basilisk fang through that terrible diary. I only wish I had been the one to do it.
Tom Riddle's eyes bulging from his skull....what a wonderful thought.
In case you didn't get the memo, you're DEAD--or, at the very least, defeated. Harry Potter defeated you as an infant, just as he did today. And in our world, dead people don't get a second chance.
Not that he's worthy to be called a person. No, he relinquished his humanity long ago, after he committed his first murder and never looked back.
You've had your chance at life, and you've failed miserably in every sense of the word. So stop trying to return so you can fail again and bring more innocent girls down with you.
Leave my sister alone, or so help me I will castrate you with a stapler and hack you to pieces with a knitting needle. How is that even possible? YOU DON'T WANT TO KNOW!
Die and stay dead,
Percival Weasley
And now, in case he was too dim to get the point of my note....
P.S.: I hate you.