Dearest Diary,
As the 14th day of the month draws nigh, I cannot help but savour the memory of Mr. Radar. I do not mean to imply that anything has happened to the gentleman, but I recall with some mixture of feelings the similar holidays we spent in each other's company. As a gentleman of some propriety, he was not unequal to arriving in dinner clothes and toting a rose. It is unfortunate that what transpired not once, but twice on such a day, was the dissolution of our attachment. I'm afraid the forthcoming holiday has never been kind to such a match. I expect no difference on this occasion.
I am not the type to fall ill at ease, however in the days surrounding this holiday. I enjoy all the fuss that is made over husbands and wives and the betrothed, and even that between school children. I was made a gift of several chocolates and delicacies today. I am certain that I shall be well-stocked for many days to come. And while I remember Mr. Radar at such a time of year, I look forward still to my encounters with Mr. Voldemort.
I wonder if one will occur on the morrow...
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