THE WORST BIRTHDAY

August 13

Dear Tom,

My name is Bellatrix Lestrange. Today is my fourty-second birthday and you happen to be my birthday present. From this day forth, you will serve as my confidant, the one person to whom I will reveal my darkest secrets and the deepest desires of my heart.

But where are my manners ? I forgot these words conveyed nothing to you. You are only a Muggle, after all. Well, I hate to break the news to you but magic does exist. There are wizards and witches all over the world but the magical communauty has been hiding for centuries. We have kept you in the dark, worthless Muggles as you are, for fear of being tracked and caught and burnt as in the Middle Ages. However, this will soon be over. My master, Lord Voldemort, the greatest wizard of all times, is ready to seize power. Enjoy the few years of freedom you have left because, when the Dark Lord rules the world, he shall have no mercy. You will become the slaves you should have always been.

You must wonder, then, why I am telling you all this. Ah, Tom, I confess it. The path I chose is the one that leads to power and glory but it has some minor drawbacks. One of them is that you can never trust anyone, even those whose blood run in your veins.

Of course, I am not talking about my master. A word from him and I would murder my family, betray my friends, even kill myself if he really wanted me to. I cherish him more than anything else in this world but the Dark Lord is not to be bothered with such a trifling matter as my everyday life.

As to my husband, the mere idea of confiding in him is laughable. We haven't spoken to each other since the wedding. Not that I dislike him, though (If we see more of each other, you will soon find out who my pet hate is but I am not telling you about it right now. It would take too long. Indeed I am quite fond of speaking ill of Lucius.).

Actually, my husband is just too dull to be taken into consideration and I certainly won't waste my breathe trying to make friends with a man who never achieved anything in his life except getting caught a number of times. If he hadn't been so clumsy, I wouldn't have spent fourteen years in Azkaban, let me tell you.

My sister ? It is funny you ask me about her because, if it hadn't been for her, I wouldn't be writing to you right now. Yes, you guessed right. It was her who sent me your diary. Oh, I don't think she really knew what it was. You see, my sister and I were never particularly fond of each other and, as you might think, things haven't improved since her husband became my master's right-hand man. I suppose she didn't want to buy a present and accordingly sent me the first thing she laid her hands upon.

Nevertheless, I must admit that your diary is one of the gifts I most like (my favourite being the Dark Arts Treaty my master gave me twenty years ago). I look nothing like it but I can be very romantic sometimes. Your diary attracted me at once. All these blank pages without writing or magic of any kind and this name, Tom Marvolo Riddle. What a wonderful name ! It seemed mystery itself. I spent the whole day making conjectures about you until I decided to start a diary of my own and to write to you, Tom. It was a strange experience to speak to someone you don't know as if he was there but, on the whole, I quite enjoyed it. And who knows ? We might meet each other some day.