June 8th 1940
Dear Diary,
It's late and I should be going to bed soon, but I need to express at least some of my feelings of today, and especially, of this evening, and Pops, who is my usual "confidante", is for once not fit for the task of listening to me. She's too good for this world, and I really do need to spit it all out. We had our promised dinner with this new neighbour tonight. He calls himself Mr. Alastor Pomfrey, and I have to admit he is not as bad as I had expected. He's still young, but not too young, and he is certainly not a stupid man. Poppy is rather fond of him already, I believe, mother will like that. But no, my sarcasm is misplaced here- he is quite nice, after all, and dear Poppy does deserve every inch of happiness she can get.
It was not Mr. Pomfrey who irritated me into this diary note, you know- nor his sister, a totally brainless, unmarried girl of about twenty-four. It was his companion, actually.
They told me his name was Dumbledore, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. I know what you are thinking, believe me. What a name. He's rather rich, or so I have understood, and he's a bachelor as well.
Yet, mother does not like him, and yes, that is supposed to ring a bell.
My mother, Mrs. Marianne Eleanor McGonagall, likes every single young bachelor with a minimum of fortune and not even a minimum of sense. That's about a rule of life over here, and the fact that she doesn't adore him in a highly idiotic way is one of the strongest doubts as to his general amiability one can ever hear.
He hardly spoke one word at dinner, and in the beginning, it was charming- Daddy doesn't say very much either- but in the end, it turned out to be a highly impolite character trait. Mother says he thinks he's better than we are, and I can quite imagine that is true. Not that I care, though. He isn't even excessively handsome, and the proof of his intelligence, too, is yet to be seen.
On a happier note, at least for the younger of my sisters, Mr. Pomfrey has announced that he plans on giving a ball one day or another. That, along with the ball at Sprout Hall that's due for next Monday, has driven Sybill and Rolanda nothing less than wild with enthusiasm. Of course, since they're both still Hogwarts students and have just arrived at home for the Summer Break, they deserve a little fun, but still I'm rather worried about the both of them. Rolanda- the youngest and my real sister- is a lively sixteen year old, but she's also not as studious as she should be and very much obsessed by Quidditch and broomstick-flying. Not that that in itself is bad, naturally, but well, you know what I mean. Sybill, who's not my real sister, is almost worse, except for the fact that she's not Quidditch-, but Divination-obsessed. Let's hope that is a passing stage, because really...
Of course I understand she still suffers a lot from the death of her parents, three years ago, which left her under the care of mine. Charles and Marcia Trelawney, my late uncle and aunt, were murdered along with my other aunt and uncle, Roderick and Angela Sinistra, in the great London mass murder of 1937. They say it was a sect of wizards and witches- they call them "the dark side", but nothing has been proved since then, nor has anyone been arrested.
I can imagine that the death of her parents has affected Sybill, but still I don't know. She's such a totally... air-headed, young girl, and I know that's nothing bad, but... Oh anyway, I'm just a worried older sister, okay?
Anyway, she and Rolanda are delighted about the upcoming balls- but I would almost give my wand to not have to go. Almost, because my wand and the fact that there's still a secret- God, if mum ever finds out!- Animagus training going on, are the only things that keep me mentally healthy.
And oh no, dear diary, I am not unhappy.
It just seems so.
Sincerely,
Minerva Caitriona