Dear Diary,

I'm beginning to believe that the constellation on the day of my birth is making itself felt. I remember being told that I was born at the sign of the Broken Wand, the worst sign in the wizarding world there is.

Once again one of my praised plans was a complete flop. As all the former attempts to kill or abduct Harry Potter have proven, my Death Eaters are obviously too stupid to catch him themselves. So I tried a different approach to the delicate Potter-business.

I resolved to set Albus Dumbledore an ultimatum: Either he handed over the boy or I would raze Hogwarts to the ground by setting free a rampaging horde of pixies. 'If Dumbledore wants to save Hogwarts,' I thought, 'then he will have no choice but to let go of the Potter boy.'

So I went to Hogwarts, climbed the walls of the castle - which by the way is no fun at all with long robes (as I still haven't got a new wand, I couldn't levitate myself up the wall) - and climbed through the luckily open window of Dumbledore's office.

Dumbledore wasn't there - an excellent opportunity to prepare myself, I thought. I intended to position myself in an awe-inspiring pose in the centre of the room, to raise my fake wand, and to wear my most terrifying killer look. Dumbledore would crumble at my feet the moment he caught sight of me and the Potter boy would be mine!

Alas, it all went wrong. On my way through the office I slipped on a Phoenix dropping, crashed into a pillar bearing a stone bust of the Czech sorcerer Jaroslav the Strangler, the pillar tipped over and Jaroslav the Strangler landed on my head.

When I woke up from unconsciousness, the long crooked nose of Albus Dumbledore was poking into my face. Dumbledore said that it was a crying shame that a once brilliant wizard had sunken so low and that I shouldn't have tried to kill Harry Potter fourteen years ago because the rebounding curse had obviously affected my brains. He didn't find it necessary to call the Ministry of Magic since in my current state, as he put it, I wouldn't even be able to hurt a Flobberworm if I wanted to.

By Merlin's left nostril! If I hadn't been so dazed from Jaroslav the Strangler crashing onto my head, I would have locked the old crackpot in his Phoenix cage and roasted the dratted bird over the fire! It is all the Phoenix's fault! Why did it have to leave its accursed droppings everywhere?

As it was, Dumbledore grabbed me by the scruff of my neck and dragged me to the exit of the Entrance Hall where he kicked my butt and told me that he'd prefer I dispense with the silly plans and stay in my Death Eater lair.

I'm already planning my revenge! I should have foreseen that Dumbledore rubs his boots with Willy Windbag's Steel Covering Lotion for Wizarding Foot Wear ("No hole, no scuff - the steely stuff is tough!"). I couldn't sit for a week!