Diary of a Dark Lord
25th December, 1942
I despise Christmas. Such a pitiful Muggle idea, really. Celebrating the birth of someone who has been dead for almost two thousand years is a ludicrous concept, even by their standards. If this is the sort of thing that families squander their time doing, I find myself increasingly glad that I am without one. The required 'Christmas dinner' is always an anticlimax, the decorations are pointless in the extreme, and the only discernable point of the celebration is to give idiots an opportunity to give out gifts that are full of worthless sentiment, and yet devoid of any genuine worth or value.
Take this 'diary', for example. Given to me as a walked down the corridor today, by Isoulde Green - a Hufflepuff, with whom I share a handful of lessons. However, I fail to remember any occasion when we have spoken at any length whatsoever. We are certainly not close, and I doubt we even have any common acquaintances. She tends to spend her time with some of the most vacuous, empty-headed people I have ever encountered, discussing matters of little or no consequence, while I only concern myself with my small circle of confidantes, all of whom are within my own House. Worst of all, I hear the girl is Muggle-born, which goes some way to explaining many of her failings. The only link between us is the classes that we both attend, which is a somewhat tenuous connection at best. And when I asked her why she felt the need to give such a meaningless gift, she simply turned red, and mumbled some comment about how she 'hoped I had a year worth recording', or some such nonsense.
Why she should have any interest in the record of my actions over the next year is beyond even me. And this book is little more than a glorified notepad, albeit one of a fine quality, with a leather cover bearing my name in golden print. But as it is just a notebook, I will probably use this for taking notes, and this will - in all likelihood - be the final entry of any significance.
28th December, 1942
Perhaps I should reconsider. Although she could not have possibly known it, Green has chosen a most appropriate time for her unexpected gift. The coming year will be an interesting one. Very interesting indeed. While the rest of the students have been away for the holidays, spending time with their families and throwing their time away like the wrapping on their Christmas gifts, I have been continuing in a project I have been working on for quite some time... I will not discuss it openly here, in case this book is found, but I now have reason to believe that my efforts over the last two years are finally close to bearing fruit. Before long, I should be able to unlock some Secrets I have been pondering for some time...
Enough for now. More later.
29th December, 1942
Blasted girl! Why has Green decided to follow me around everywhere, at this of all times? All day long, no matter where I turn, there she is, watching me! Worst of all, she seems to always have one of her pitiable little friends with her... I once heard Stihl, the air-headed captain of the Slytherin Quidditch Team, remark that giggling should be made punishable by death. Much as it pains me to say it, the idiot may have had a point. Giggling is truly one of the most irritating sounds that a person can make, and it is only made worse when there doesn't seem to be any cause for it. I certainly can't see what they can find to laugh about, just from watching me walk out of the Prefect's bathroom, or some similar action. Perhaps this is what the more imbecilic Muggles at the orphanage refer to as 'toilet humour'.
Obviously, having someone watching my every move has made my... research... difficult. The only place I am safe from her attentions is the Slytherin Common Room, and that was one of the first places I eliminated from my investigations. I was able to elude her attentions on several occasions, but not for long enough to make much more than a cursory start on my search. If I wasn't so convinced of her utter stupidity, I might suspect that she knew exactly what was happening... First this diary, at a moment when I would actually find such an item useful, and now her constant, unending attention. Even when I ask the girl why she has decided to follow me everywhere, I am greeted with yet more of her accursed giggling! In the end, I ordered her to leave me alone, which seemed to cause her some kind of disappointment, although I can not understand why...
I hope tomorrow brings me greater success.
30th December, 1942
My search goes on, without even a glimmer of what I had been hoping to find... I am certain I am close, but something - some infinitesimal detail - still eludes me. Let me explain, in as much as I am able to in such an insecure place. I have been undertaking a great deal of study into the history of Hogwarts of late, particularly into the noble founder of our house, Salazar Slytherin. While much is known about him, there are many myths and legends surrounding the events of his life, many of which are doubtless nonsense, but some with a basis in fact. My goal is to separate the two, but I am finding it extremely difficult to do so. Luckily, Green appears to be leaving me alone, a fact I am most grateful for. Perhaps my outburst last night was all it took to discourage her from following me around. I did see her briefly, but she fled in tears as soon as she laid eyes on me. I did, however, find myself regularly obstructed by several of her friends, who seemed to hold some kind of resentment toward me for what I said yesterday. An inconvenience, but I expect this one, too, will pass.
Tomorrow, I will be unable to do a great deal to further my investigations... The students who remain here will be attending a banquet in the Great Hall to usher in the New Year, and, as a School Prefect, I am required to not only attend, but assist in the organisation of the event. Being a Prefect may have opened doors and offered opportunities, but it also comes with responsibilities. Much as I would like to cast these duties aside, the loss of privilege that would be entailed may have a detrimental effect on some of my other activities. I am also acutely aware of the end of the holidays, which is approaching at an ever-increasing rate. When the remainder of the student body return from their holidays on the 4th, I shall find it much harder to search the school discreetly, so I had hoped my investigations would have progressed much further by this stage. It appears that I will be forced to wait a little longer before I can find out if my suspicions are correct, unless the next few days are considerably luckier than those preceding them.
31st December, 1942
I am actually writing this in the early hours of the 1st of January, as the interminable celebrations and the preparations for them have kept me even more occupied than I had expected. While I was able to spend some time exploring the castle in the morning, this was soon cut off when I received a note by owl post, informing me that a Prefects' Meeting was being held at eleven o'clock. Unsurprisingly, the agenda of the meeting centred on the plans for tonight's festivities, and there were many worthless and time-consuming tasks given out for us to do. I myself was given the tedious chore of overseeing the decoration of the castle, which at first seemed liked an ideal task – such a role would give me the freedom to move about the castle as will, and perhaps continue some of my work surreptitiously.
Of course, my fellow Prefects would never allow such a convenient arrangement to continue, so they insisted on pairing each of us with another Prefect to complete our tasks for the day. I was forced to take some hapless Hufflepuff around with me all day long, asking innumerable pointless questions, while upholding every stereotype that unfortunate house can boast. I believe his name was Arthur, or something similar. He must have been appointed as a Prefect only this year, as he attacked everything with an overabundance of zeal and enthusiasm that became quite infuriating. The boy was like a demented house-elf, darting around all over the place with an inane, pleased-to-serve-you-please-wipe-your-boot-on-me expression on his face, both before the banquet and after. Whichever imbecile dreamt up the 'buddy' system, I hope they died in a quite excruciating manner…
During the banquet itself, Isoulde Green took it upon herself to become my ever-present companion, a state of affairs which was annoying at the start of the evening, and positively infuriating by the end of it. Any hopes that I had about discouraging her attentions evaporated just before the start of the festivities, when she suddenly latched herself onto my arm as I walked into the Great Hall. Curse the faculty, and their misguided efforts to encourage inter-house friendships – their insistence on a single dining table meant there was no escape from the girl, who spent the entire evening twittering endlessly in a transparent and doomed attempt at being charming. Quite apart from my own embarrassment, I was forced to endure the stares and whispers of a large number of the students, including a considerable number of my own house-mates. No doubt the much-vaunted 'rumour mill' will be turning overtime tonight, and I would be surprised if I was the only one to fall foul of it.
By the time everyone had finished gorging themselves on food, that insufferable Professor Dumbledore attempted to engage the remnants of the student body in song. Yet another of his 'music is the greatest magic' moments. I'll show him what the greatest magic is, mark my words. Even that idiot Dippet had the good grace to look embarrassed by the cacophony that ensued. Fortunately, the day's 'exertions' gave me a convenient excuse to take my leave of the festivities early. I did make an effort to continue my search while everyone else was occupied in the Great Hall, but I was only able to check a few of the East Wing classrooms before Green captured me in her talons once again. The words we exchanged were neither tender nor sweet, but I was forced to retire to the Slytherin common room to escape her wailing entreaties. Why must these things always happen to me?
Well, there it is - the first few days of Tom Riddle's Diary. (You know how diaries always start at Christmas the year before, because they're always given as presents...) Hopefully people found it interesting, and possibly amusing - I like the way such an intelligent person is utterly clueless in the face of female attention. Yes, I am aware that Tom's diary is a horcrux, and might not have been used as an actual diary, but what the hell. I originally wrote this for the Yuletide Contest at thebasiliskcafedotnet but I'm now thinking of carrying it on for a few months - writing Tom discovering the chamber, and framing Hagrid for the death of Myrtle. Let me know if you think it's a good idea?