Dearest Diary,
As I prepare for the hymnsing in the morning, I am hasty to inform you that I have discovered the identity of the mysterious gentleman who wrote me verses on Sunday. He is not in fact a newcomer to this diary, but one who has been mentioned in passing, and will never achieve a more prominent status than that which he has already achieved. Mr. Friendly, as he is known to you, was practicing a bit of foolery and wrote me the letters which were deemed anonymous at the time. It certainly added a touch of excitement to the holiday, but I am disappointed to find they were not sincere. Not because of the author but because it might have held quite the intrigue if they turned out to be from one I've never mentioned.
Of a more delicate nature, however is the invitation I received this afternoon to the estate of a friend who was also hosting Mr. Voldemort for some conversation and sweets. Were I to accept the invitation, I fear my silent admiration may weaken to be less than silent. So being of sound mind, I declined the invitation, after only a few moments in such company. Such admiration cannot be borne and must be squelched immediately. I shall hasten to do so.
Of course these things take time, so until then, I shall only keep silent that I am not run away with my feelings.
Perhaps tomorrow might bring some clarity on the matter...
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