Chapter Text
Dear Diary,
That’s how I’m supposed to start, isn’t it?
Mother insisted that I write in a diary.
She handed me this stupid book.
So I’ll write. But it won’t be happily.
I am Esmerelda Riddle.
I can’t believe I’m introducing myself to a piece of paper.
I’m eleven years old and I received my letter of acceptance to Hogwarts yesterday. I expected nothing less, of course.
Why wouldn’t I be accepted?
It’s not as if I worried at all when Astoria got her acceptance letter a whole week before I did.
Not at all.
More than likely, Dumbledore, the fool, was trying to see if he could get away with not inviting me.
Mother told me who my father is. I’m not a fool.
I am not my father. I’ll be greater than he ever was.
And I won’t lose to an infant.
I suppose if I have to write in you anyway, you can serve as a memoir when I’ve become the ruler of the world.
Mother taught me many things. I can manipulate with the best of them. It’ll be easy.
Of course, I’ll remove anything incriminating, but it would be best to keep this as honest as possible so I can remember exactly what I’ve done.
Layering this in a manner of dangerous spells is therefore necessary, of course.
[Pasted beneath this passage is a photo of a young girl with a round face and somewhat chubby cheeks. Her eyes are almond shaped and sage green. Her hair is a deep auburn and, while curly, ends at her jawline in a semblance of a bob cut.]
That’s me. Esmerelda Riddle, as I stated prior. Astoria insists on calling me “Esmee”, touting it as a nickname. I am the only daughter of the Dark Lord Voldemort, who’s an utter incompetent cunt. Not that I’d ever say that to his face.
I’m not a fool, but he is and he’s dead.
You’d think I’d have a snake, given I can speak to them, but I prefer not to have a being that can snitch on me sleeping in my room.
My cat is a Siberian and her name is Irina. I care about her more than most things in the world.
Tomorrow I go shopping for my school supplies with my mother. I’ve been spending the entire day returning to my English accent. My mother can change accents in an instant, but I’m not so talented.
I will be, soon.
I will be the best, soon.
Esmeralda Riddle.