The Unimaginably Private Diary of Cedric Diggory

The Unimaginably Private Diary of Cedric Diggory

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10:37 September the First, Year 1993

Diary,

Or maybe journal. Is diary too feminine? Dear...er....well, I'll figure that one out later. Mum and Dad are taking me to King's Cross Station. It is exactly 10:37, which will leave just enough time to meet and greet at the platform before hopping on the Hogwarts Express. It is my sixth year and I have been made Prefect. A most prestigious honor, I feel, as my father was a Prefect during his time at Hogwarts.

This entry does seem a bit formal, I must admit, but Father always said you must never write anything down that isn't worth reading. And as I am merely a sixth year and nothing of great importance has happened to me, I must hope proper grammar and sentence structure will make up for that.

We've almost reached the station. Will right more on the train. I suppose I'm getting the hang of this journal-diary-writing thing.

C.D.

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4:52 September the First, Year 1993

Dear Journal,

Well, that doesn't sound quite right. But, seeing as I've already written it, it will have to do for now. At present, I am on the Hogwarts Express. It left promptly at 11:00, as always. If there's a single thing one can count on in this world, it is the Hogwarts Express.

As I write this, I am completely absorbed in the excitement and anticipation that comes with a new school year. Sitting across from me, my good friends Marcus Summers and Nigel Stebbins are playing Wizard Chess. So many of my classmates have popped in to say hello. Lilac Rueben and Tybalt Peters stopped by just a few moments ago. Cho Chang passed by. She's very pretty. And smart, too. All Ravenclaws are. Or at least the ones I've met seem to be. She smiled at me as she walked by. I opened my mouth to say hello, but she disappeared too quickly. I must have looked like a complete idiot.

The train's stopping now. We must have gotten to Hogwarts already. Writing in this journal/diary must really make the time fly by. Until next ti

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5:06 September the First, 1988

Something unthinkable has just happened. Dementors! On the Hogwarts Express, no less. Word's been traveling fast. From what I hear, Harry Potter fainted, or something like that. All I remember was it became indescribably cold, and all I could hear was...Oh, we've actually arrived, now. Must get my things and get off this bloody train. What a start to the year. I highly doubt anything could top this! Dementors indeed! Good bye, then.

C.D.

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12:04 September the Seventh, Year 1988

I know it has been a while, but the first week of school is always so hectic. New classes, new professors, and to top it all off, talk of the dementors is still the hot topic of the Hogwarts Gossip. That Slytherin boy, Draco Malfoy, keeps bringing up the fainting episode of Potter's. But I can understand why he fainted. It was unbearable. Dementors, they say, remove any happiness from a person, and that person is only left with their absolute worst memory. And sometimes, when a criminal is sentenced to this particular form of punishment, a dementor sucks out their soul! Spooky things dementors are. Indeed.

Everyone else in my dormitory is asleep. I am tired as well, but I think I'll write a bit before I nod off. This week has been bustling, to say the least. We have a new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor, a Mister Remus Lupin. Seems safe enough. I reckon anyone's better than our last two. The first one was possessed by You-Know-Who and the second turned out to be a complete fake. You know, I really looked up to Mister Lockhart. What a disappointment that was. In any case, Professor Lupin began our class by splitting us into pairs and having us cast various spells at our partners. I have always been quite good in DADA. I received an Outstanding in the subject on my Ordinary Wizarding Levels Report. Father says I have the right stuff to become a Ministry Official. Or maybe even Minister of Magic. Dad always says things like that. I don't know if he realizes it, but he puts an enormous amount of pressure on me when he says these kinds of things. Why, just this past summer, Mum and Dad were entertaining friends from the Ministry at our house and Father manipulated the topic onto my O.W.L. results, although the previous topic had nothing to do with my schoolwork. I do believe it was Class-C Non-Tradeable substances.

What if I don't want to be his Ministry drone, a miniature him? Why do I have to be perfect all the time. Can't I just have a few precious moments to screw up completely, like any normal person? All I want, it seems, is to do something horribly wrong or fail a class or...get in a fight. Something. Anything! But can I tell Mum and Dad that? No, no, no. Why screw up their perfectly orderly lives simply because of me?

I must be immensely tired. I seem to have fallen in love with rhetorical questions. Good night. Until tomorrow. Or next week, as the case may be.

C.D.

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