I don't know.
Yes, I, Lord Voldemort, the greatest Dark wizard of all time, called You-Know-Who and He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, don't know.
I don't know why I tried to kill him, those fourteen years ago. I don't know why I lured him down, to the Chamber of Secrets, and tried to kill him then. I don't know why I insisted on capturing him, him of all wizards, to use his blood for my return, return to power. I don't know why at all.
But I am desperate to find out.
You may notice the flaw in my argument. Wait a moment, you say, how do you know what happened in the Chamber of Secrets? Who, of those who emerged alive (and sane) from that ordeal would tell you? Ginny? Ron? Surely not Fawkes or Potter, or anyone they told!
But someone did tell. Someone told the world.
Joanne Katherine Rowling. She told everyone who spoke English. Then the books were translated, and she told everyone else. Told them about me. They tell me that I am a fictional character she created. They tell me that I have no right to exist, that I live only in the minds of millions of children and adults worldwide.
And that is true. But of those millions that know of me, many believe in me. Few adults, but many children believe that I exist and terrorize wizard schoolchildren. They believe with that simpleminded belief children have.
Belief can create.
And so I am here, and I exist. But belief creates what they believe in. The children believe that I want to kill Harry Potter. They do not know why. Rowling does know why, but she does not truly believe. She cannot understand that I now exist as truly as she does. So I have a burning desire to kill Harry Potter. I have a great and terrible reason.
The only problem is that I do not know what it is.
So I am here. I have read these books, searching
for the explanation. I know as much about myself, and Potter, as the most
rabid fan. I could not know less.
And I can not know more.
I am safe for now. I have a body, and a wand. No one believes I should be anywhere in particular, so I can be anywhere I like. I travel the world, searching for answers.
Go to Rowling, you say. Go, and ask her. She knows why you want to destroy Harry Potter! And I have tried. You should see how I have tried. And I have always failed. There is something, some limitation to the belief, that does not allow me to talk to her or get to her. I do not know what it is.
So I travel. I am in America now, where they will believe more than they think, but less than they would like to. Soon, the fifth book will become available, and I will be pulled again into chaos, into conflicting beliefs that eventually resolve themselves. But for now, I am safe.
But I do not know what to do. I am swept along on this current of belief that controls me. I know less than I could, less than I would like. And in some ways I am fictional, in that I came into being - simultaneously - sometime around 1945 and sometime around 1997 or 1998. And I am believed to have many names, in many different languages. But all are resolved into one central being: Voldemort.
And I know not what to believe.
But I know one thing: I will destroy Harry Potter.
And I ask you, all who read this:
Believe in me, believe in my existence. If you despise me, stand firmly on the side of the "good guys," then believe in Potter, believe in the Weasleys. But if you have any sympathy in your soul, you will believe in me instead.
Potter knows where he stands (for he exists too, brought into the world as I was). He is not, to the readers of the books that bear his name, an enigma. They know nearly everything about him, and so he does also.
But they do not know me, and so I do not know myself.
Believe in me. Please.