Scenario # 2:

Your character has been robbed of a very important person, object, or piece of information and wishes to get it back.

Stolen

Draco waltzed into his dormitory and plopped down on his bed, pulled the green curtains around him for a bit of extra privacy despite the fact that he was the only person in the room. He reached under his bed and pulled out a small locked chest. He then pulled out his wand and a small pocket knife laced with a potion to heal any wound created by the blade. One of the first his father had ever given him, back in grade school. His father had called it a training blade, but for Draco it now held a better purpose.

He pointed his wand at the chest and whispered, "Mudbloods are scum."

The chest opened with a quiet snap. He placed the Chest under his pillow and peered around the curtains to check one last time that there was nobody in the dormitory with him.

There wasn't. He was safe. He closed the curtains once more and pulled the chest back out from underneath his pillow. He placed his wand on the bed beside him and gently laid the chest in his lap. He withdrew a very rustic journal from the depths of the box before casting it aside as well.

He paused momentarily, looking at the cover. Did he dare open it here? What was that noise? Was someone here?

He took a deep breath and chided himself mentally, "Who honestly cares what you write in your DIARY, Draco."

All the same he sat motionless, refusing to breathe, listening for the imaginary intruder. After he turned blue in the face he took another calming, much needed, breath and proceeded to pricking his thumb with the enchanted blade.

A small pool of blood formed on his thumb before the magic began to seal the small cut. He ran his thumb, blood and all along the spine of the book before him. There was no visible lock, but with out a drop of his blood smeared just so along the outer binding the book would not open.

As it was the book now opened warmly at his touch and he ruffled the top left corners of the book lovingly, the scent of musty old book tickling his nose in a familiar manner. His mother had given him the book. It had been passed down the Black family linage for a while. He could read the writing of anyone who had possessed the Black family blood line and had written in the book before him.

It was interesting and more so now than before, Draco was merely interested in reading what his ancestors had written. His first year at Hogwarts he had written his heart out and now more than ever, he wished he could tear the old pages out, or blot them. Not even fire was successful at riding the world of his darkest secrets. He had been a fool to write them down.

His silly little whims and wishes.

He had written about how his father had been a Death Eater, how all of the other children should have respected him more because of his Blood Status. Pure-Bloods should be revered always. He had also written about Granger before he knew she was a Mudblood. It was embarrassing. If his father ever found it he would disown him. If his mother ever found it she would die of shame.

Nobody could ever find it. If they did, Draco's life would be over. He couldn't pass it on to his own children. They wouldn't respect him. Draco needed to hide it. Find a place to bury it for good.

But he couldn't. There was always the chance that somebody else would find it. That they would find it and manage to open it. Maybe they would even force Draco to open it for them. He closed the book with a snap and uttered, "Vengeance Plotted."

He placed the diary back into the chest. Muttered once more about how horrible Mudbloods were, shoved the knife back into his pocket and carefully concealed the chest in the mist of all the junk he kept under his bed. He unwound the curtains, checked the room once more and sauntered off.

As soon as Draco was gone, Harry pulled the invisibility cloak from around his shoulders and whispered to Ron, "How much you wanna bet that Draco keeps a diary about how much he wants to kill me?"

Ron's head full of flaming red hair appeared next to Harry's after a bit of a struggle. "I don't think he wants to kill you, mate. I think he writes about how much he wishes he could be you instead."

"Shall we open it and see?" Harry asked, dropping the cloak on the floor and walking over to the dorm door. He locked it with a simple charm before turning back towards Draco's bed.

"Okay," Ron was muttering from the depths of the underside of Draco's bed. "Let's just read it and put it back though. I don't fancy having Crabbe and Goyle after me for stealing Draco's diary."

They pulled the chest out together, grudgingly muttered Draco's password and pulled the diary out. They attempted to open it, but the covers wouldn't budge. Harry was about to suggest that they simply put it back when there was a muffled cry as someone ran into the locked door.

Ron kicked the chest back under the bed and slipped the diary into his belt loop as Harry threw the invisibility cloak back over them just as the door opened and Draco reentered.

"Did I lock my chest back up?" Draco asked himself. "And who locked the bloody door?"

Harry and Ron slipped past Draco silently. He reached under his bed and pulled out the open and empty chest, panic stricken. He dove under his bed and began to throw things about. By the time everything was out from under his bed he was no longer breathing. His secrets were walking around Hogwarts somewhere.

Taking a deep breath he told himself that nobody at school could open it. He would just have to figure out who had stolen it and get it back. He had been so sure there hadn't been anybody in the room with him. He had checked so many times—but he had heard something…

"Potter," the noise should have given him away the instant Draco hadn't seen anyone. How many times had Potter dragged his Muggle loving Father's invisible blankey around?

His cold grey eyes narrowed and his panic fled. He'd get his diary back. He'd get it back and bash Potter's head in in the process. Two birds with one stone.

He almost called out to Crabbe and Goyle, but stopped himself. He couldn't tell them that his DIARY had been stolen. He'd have to get it back himself. Not that it would be a problem…