Hello. I have nothing really to write, but I was recommended to begin a journal. I can almost guarantee that this will be both the beginning and concluding entry, but nevertheless I will try, because I do like to please people, if I can. It's only that it almost never works, so sometimes I feel like giving up trying. My name is Severus Tobias Snape. I am eleven. No one believes me. They either think I am much younger, because I am small, or much older, because I am finding out, by people telling me over and over, that I don't act like an eleven year old. I don't know what I'm meant to act like, but supposedly not like this. It would make sense. I am finding out I've not had what most people would consider a "normal" life. I wish I lived in a tree. Don't laugh. Not up in a tree, but among the hollow part of the trunk, with the roots holding in old earth like stairs. There was a tree like that near my house. And I wished I lived there. My father frightens me. And he never found me when I would go there, and he would never beat me for using magic, because he couldn't see.
In case anyone ever reads this and wonders what look like, my hair is black, my eyes are black, and my face is some color that faces oughtn't to be. That's what someone said, at least. Another person just came into the room and asked what I was writing. I'm not going to answer. I'd rather not. If people would just use their eyes, they wouldn't ask such stupid questions. I am liking school so far. I was sorted into Slytherin. I am good at potions. That's all I have to say. Goodbye.