I am proud of this little fic. Because I wrote Voldie, and I wrote him and not Tom Riddle. I like the tone, and I like the mood, and I love the strong first person. And I just love writing demented charectors. Enjoy.
It's hard, being alone all the time, not trusting anyone. It's not something you can get used to, even though you tell yourself its fine. After all, when have I known different? It seems like I've never trusted anyone, ever. For as long as I can remember, always the good things have left me, in one form or another. Always been denied to me. So I have learnt to stop asking.
That is why I like him. He is my pride and joy, a man after my own heart, except on a minor scale. I aspire to take what I can from life, an outstretched hand that curls into a fist with claws. He is merely after survival, now. I like to credit myself with some of that breaking, but it may just be vanity.
He lies to me. I see it in his eyes, in his body, in his mind.
But he's good, oh! The best.
So I keep him around. Just to see.
Just to see how far he can be twisted without breaking. How far he will go to either extreme before fleeing back to his hidden medium to cower, alone in the dark.
Yes, a half-blood, just like me. But where my mother died, left me alone, his was there, perhaps a worse punishment, the guilt.
Taking the boy was a coup, if I do say so myself. Two snakes with one stone, and no one even saw the second snake be hit. The boy in himself had no allure: already so broken, so fragile and weak within him, it would be no fun to force him to commit heinous acts and reflect on them afterwards. No, his use was in the ripples he caused when he was dropped into my pool.
His father, his mother, understandable. Snape had been unwise in his obvious fondness for the boy, let a weakness show. He was seen as perhaps a protégé, but not fit to the task in my eyes. And I saw him try and protect the boy, and I saw his control crumble as he was left behind, and I relished it, watching him collapse.
It was a silent thing, this last pillar cracking. I alone saw it amongst those on our side. I wanted to see what he would do. I wanted to flush him out in the open like a little pest and wanted to see him flee, wanted to see him pick a side, play the part, loose a little more.
When I had nothing to start out with, he had a few things, and that is enough to loose.
I loved him, for showing this weakness. And it scared me when he fled and I could not find him.
And somehow, I knew that the others did not have him either. I knew we could finish this war in a day and kill that goddamn brat, flush out all his little friends and partners and raze the world to the ground and I would never find him.
It hurt, a little, in the cold expanse inside of me, and I knew he had won.
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