Dear Diary,

I am not sure why I am starting you so late in my time at Hogwarts. I think it is because I have so much “bottled up” that I just want to scream it out for all to hear, but it is too personal for me to tell anyone in a whisper. In fact, I am not sure if some of what I know is even mine to share, but you are a book, who are you going to tell? You are far more trustworthy than anything or anyone.

Something is going on and I hate it. I think wandering around while my Disillusion spell is in effect has paid off. Yet I am not sure I even want to know this information anymore. I am terrified for Hanith. I saw her talking to “Scorcha”, as she says. I was invisible, and therefore I should not have been startled when they did not notice me. I remember that beautiful book she showed me, about the poisons. The recipes were fascinating. I never saw anything quite like it before, but I am almost certain at this point that there was a horrifying compromise. I am going off subject. Hanith was talking about finding bodies in the Thames, and she mentioned something about Knockturn Alley prior to this event. I did not bother to ask her at the time, assuming it was for class work or personal affairs. I respect others’ privacy. If they ask me questions, I answer. No questions, no lies: it is how I live.

Hanith then told Scorcha to give me Summer – her pet. I took this as a cue to leave, for I did not want to hear anymore. Is that considered eavesdropping? I walked into the Entrance Hall and dispelled my Disillusion quietly, then walked over to my pillar. As anticipated, Scorcha came in with Summer. Steve overreacted and started casting Banishio at the poor animal. I took the monkey upstairs to my dorm. I think his dream of becoming a prefect has gone to his head, but who am I to say that? I have no real ambitions; I do not know what I strive for, to get good grades? That hardly counts.

Darren knows about Mother. Father is lazy, as always. He is somewhere in Arabia, I think. Working for the Ministry; doing his job flawlessly; letting my mother almost die; and all those wonderful things a man of his station has to do for a living. Professor Flitwick advised me that I should finish my O.W.L.s before going to sort out my personal life. He does not understand. Why should I expect him to? I am sure he has never been in this position. The one person you love who constantly breaks your heart is now in the hospital, on the brink of death. Many are much more fortunate than I, so they are generously spared of this. I think that is how Mother became like this. I remember that she never talked about the death, and then that slowly transformed her, in a way. I despise thinking of her like that, but it is true and I cannot deny it. I have no one to tell, and I pray Darren keeps his peace. I hardly know him, so how can I trust him? Well, how can I trust you, Diary? How do I know you are secure, in my box? How can I trust you to keep my secrets, my thoughts, my life safe? I cannot. That is just how it is, is it not? I am naïve, I know, just like idiot Father, but who else can I speak to? A counselor? If I told anyone, then I am afraid that they will tell Father that he now has two women needing taking care of. Now wouldn’t that be depressing? Darren seems smart enough, so I suppose that is why I so unwittingly told him everything. Or perhaps I told him to keep myself sane? Is that a form of greed? Am I selfish for telling him something so private and unspoken of for my benefit? Nobody else knows, so why should I burden him with the secret? I do not know. Why do I even bother writing down my thoughts? In hope of reading them later and being able to figure out where my life is heading? Trelawney would love me for this little exercise I am doing.

Help me.

Dear Diary,

Summer is lovely. I suppose that only makes it more mysterious. Jellybean seems to have taken a liking to the monkey. That is actually quite sweet in contrast with everything else that has been going on.

I try my best to stay occupied, I really do. I heard once that thinking too much makes you go insane. Whether that statement is true or not, I do not know. I find not having much to do rather infuriating, but that is why I have you, Diary. I do not think that people like Christian, Nathaniel, Ulrich, Scorcha and the rest have any idea why I am so obsessed with helping them with their class work and ingredients. It is for two reasons, now that I think about it. The first is to gather supplies for my O.W.L.s and the second to stay at least reasonably sane.

I am not sure where Hanith is now. I think she may be in Knockturn. I really should be utterly horrified, but what if it is all a big prank? What if she is just going to Pinboria? Or trying to meet the Riddle Master? Perhaps she is just getting some equipment for her studies? That would not be too surprising, nor worrying, but I fear that it is not so innocent. I really should confirm this before creating theories, but she would probably hate me and never talk to me again. So I mustn’t interfere. Not yet, at any rate.

I think that is what I adore about you, Diary. You listen so carefully, you understand me so naturally, you never say anything back, you never scream at me. You’re so quiet, so kind, so merciful. I feel wonderful having someone I can trust. Although, you’re not technically “someone”, I think you can be considered a “part” of me, but that is just being odd, isn’t it?

According to my cousins, Mother is in a coma. What could have happened, I’ve no clue, but my cousins are not the most reliable source. Father has not responded to my letter yet. I think we have grown apart. It was all going all right until fourth year. That was when my studies demanded my attention, and when the Ministry decided that Father should go off to some foreign country to do something. He might be an Auror for all I know. So darling daddy had Nicholas and Joshua, the most responsible pair ever, look after Mother. So it is no surprise that this has happened. Joshua even had the nerve to call me Christina. He should know by now that I go by Madeline again. I assume if Mother dies we’ll bury her next to Michael, but knowing Father, he probably won’t have the funeral arrangements ready until she’s half rotten, but I really should be at least a little optimistic from time to time, shouldn’t I?

Oh well.

Dear Diary,

I met the oddest boy. His name is Triff. I took the liberty of showing him around Hogwarts, but considering his personality, I do not think he really wanted to know about the school. He was very creepy. He attacked Ulrich on grounds of something to do with Star. He managed to freak out most people, like Steven, Christian, Ulrich and most other people who have been in the same room as him. The way he phrases things was rather disturbing; not a good impression to make if you are an import from Muggarhads. It makes you wonder if he wanted to transfer or if they expelled him? I am sure Hanith would have some ideas, but she is still missing. I now have this odd sense of dread. I sincerely hope that she is all right, wherever she is.

I helped Christian get his bicorn horn from Pinboria, showed him the beach, too. It is nice to have someone intelligent to speak with occasionally. I am not saying that everyone else is stupid, mind you. It is just that they simply do not understand me. I think that is why I hardly have any “friends”, I suppose. Not because nobody understands me, but because I am so neutral most times when it comes to debates and arguments. I can see where both parties are coming from a majority of the time, and I base my opinions of them from how they act. Do not get my wrong, Diary, I have very strong views on many things, but being able, for once, to watch a debate fascinates me. I think this trait only makes me come across even more “unique” than I already am.

Anyway, Diary, you are probably wondering where I was going with that last paragraph. It seems an awful lot just to say that Christian now knows. Well, he is not positive, I do not think, but he most definitely knows something is happening with my poor Mother. At the rate I am speaking about it, everyone will know before Halloween.

Does your patronus actually say what type of person you are? Just as your wand screams your personality? Or is your patronus just a feature, an accessory for repelling both dementors and lethifolds alike? Dementors. That reminds me: should I start making notes, or is that too much of a foresight? But prudence will not be a bad idea in this situation.

I hope.

Dear Diary,

I am sorry that I have neglected you. Where do I start?

Steven was attacked by someone in a silver mask in Knockturn Alley, no one knew who it was, Christian thinks it was Leon. Apparently Leon needed to get some hangman’s rope. Steven, Christian, Star and I talked about the story, and found some major holes. We tried to talk to Elicia, but she refused to listen to our story. She slapped Christian after he called her corrupt. Christian went to Gregory to receive an apology; Gregory said something about proper respect. The prefects confiscated Christian’s wand, and now I do not know what has happened to him. Steven stopped talking to me; it was as if as soon as Christian left, I stopped existing to him. It makes me think that maybe he only noticed me in the first place because I was Christian’s friend. This took place a little after Leon started sending me letters and roses. I do not know what to do now. I am so confused.

Hanith is in a coma. My mother is in a coma. Christian’s wand is confiscated; Hanith’s wand was confiscated. Am I the cause? Am I the core reason for why everyone around me seems to be in misery? What have I done? I do not know. Lubdus was cursed, and his memory erased. He cannot recall who I am. Someone attacked us while we were out to get ice cream.

I hope my next entry will make a little more sense. I hope next time I will be able to collect my thoughts and sort them out on paper.

The filthy animal hisses and flees,
Its permanently black tail stroking streets,
It wails under a streetlamp, lamenting,
The lonely, abused dog barks the chorus.
Lights flicker as a baby starts to sob,
The young mother tries to hush her daughter,
Her worst fear the waking of the father.
A drunken figure staggers down the street,
Abandoned by his friends and of his job,
His pistol finds his ear. There is silence.
The street daren’t breathe as it hears the soft click,
Invisible eyes watch him without hearts,
His heart stops beating and nobody cares.
What’s love? We have never had it. Not here.

Suggests the animal is a cat.
Suggests the tail is black because of the lack of care when the animal roams.
Suggests the animals are noisy at night and sorrowful sounding to the residents.
Teenage?
Suggests the husband is abusive.
Lost his job so friends dumped him so he got drunk.
The man commits suicide and apparently it's not uncommon for the area, therefore the locals seem to have grown to treat it like sport.
Somewhat shocking question. For impact?
First person. For effect?
Suggests love is elsewhere but this certain area seems to not have been introduced to it. Telling reader to go away?

Form:
Sonnet

Title:
N/A
(To be determined.)

Task:
Write about somewhere negative.

Success:
N/A

Published?:
Private.

Audience:
Teens (?)

Extra:
New York

Dear Diary,

It is formidable to look after children when they take separate paths.

Also, a certain blonde girl who is unfortunately in my House wants to die horribly.

Why do I call you "diary"? Why don't I name you? I've heard and read of people naming their diaries. Why don't I? Is it because I don't know anyone I trust enough to talk about my thoughts to? If I were to name you, I think I would name you "Christian" or "Alexander" or... Shall I dub you Lloyd? It is an interesting name. I think I would feel more at ease talking to someone whom I do not know and is a figment of my strange imagination than someone I know. Do I have a phobia of trusting others? Pistanthrophobia. I think I'm philophobic.

Maybe. Perhaps. Who knows? I know I don't, Lloyd; but maybe you can help me figure this out? Is that why I speak and write to you? Because I seek answers? Then why do I not converse with someone real? Because I have no desire nor know someone as a friend?

Everyone is a mystery; an unwanted necessity. I've only you.

Tell me, Lloyd: Do you feel special?