This story was originally posted over two years ago but due to circmstances, I was unable to finish it. I have now completely rewritten it and begun reposting it. Enjoy.
Silly muggles. Yes, clutch your golden tomes of lies, believe the words you so desperately devour, seven hundred measly pages at a time. They would have wanted to be remembered that way. Glorified and heroic- characters in a fictional plotline with its oh so predictable ending. Good conquers evil and all is well, Harry Potter lives a happy life with no more fear. Evil is vanquished and the world is peaceful. Clutch onto those words labeled as fantasy and take them as such, for that is all they are, fiction. Fiction, but not by nature, fiction only because the details of the story have been reworked and embroidered over so much that it barely resembles what it should be. It is only the skeleton of the true story, the happy little details of brave Harry and his faithful gang, wiping out evil and still having time to take exams. The real story, the full story, however, was darker, much darker than this. Too dark for your tiny little muggle minds to handle.
You don't know who I am, don't pretend you do because I guarantee that no matter how many times you have read her words, you never saw my name, never heard a shadow of my presence. Those books never introduced me. Many people in charge kept me a secret from your world and most of the wizarding world. "Ignorance is bliss," that's their motto. I drug a few famous names through the mud; they do not want respect for those people to lessen because of me. Who am I, after all, to ruin reputations? I am just a little twenty-year-old girl, of no real importance to the main idea of the story.
I will tell you who I am, tell you my story, although I can not guarantee that you will believe it. I mean Ms. Rowling wove such a fanciful tale that no one in their right mind would want to release their grasp on it and actually hear reason.
J.K. Rowling. That name is fake too. She is not a muggle, as she claims to be. She is a witch, and a famous witch at that. A witch that went into hiding and people still whisper about. A witch that lost it all, all of her friends, all of her family, her entire life. A witch that goes by the name of Hermione Granger. I see that you do not believe me at the moment, but perhaps you will, let me explain. Granger was shamed when she realized who I was. She had befriended and helped me. Much as Weasley, Potter, Black, and Lupin had. After my work was over, she drown herself in the ways of her muggle parents. She changed her appearance with a single spell and retold the story of her life. She forgot the sticky details though. The ones about me.
I own the name that should be met with shudders when it is mentioned. I am the one that should have been feared. I was the reason for the stories, the reason for the struggles. I was the one most highly reveared, the one whose wrath was the most highly feared. I was the brains to Voldemort's face, I called the shots. If Voldemort was the Dark Lord than I was the Goddess, the Goddess of Evil, the Goddess of Spite.
T.M.R. are the initials that I share with my grandfather. T.M.R.- Tamien Malyss Riddle-Black, the dark lord's only living descendant, his greatest weapon, his only love, his only weakness, his only competition.
Grandfather was smitten with me before I was even conceived. From the moment that he heard the prophecy, he loved me, the only thing that he could love. He cared nothing for my grandmother who died only two years after having my mother while in battle. And my mother- well my mother is a different story entirely. A story that is not fit for these pages just yet. Oh, believe me, it will be told, but not yet. No, my grandmother and mother were only props, props in his plan to fulfill the prophecy that he heard in his last year of Hogwarts, a prophecy that was emblazoned on his heart until his death.
"ON THE LAST DAY OF THE TENTH MONTH, THE DAY WHEN THE GREAT WAR WILL END, A WEAPON WILL BE BORN TO THE HEART OF DARKNESS. WITH UNFATHOMABLE POWERS IT WILL RISE IN BEAUTY AND DECEIT, A SOULESS MODEL OF A FEARFUL KING. THE WEAPON WILL BE THE START AND THE END TO THE SECOND GREAT WAR, DECIEVING ONE END TO ACHIEVE THE OTHERS. THIS WEAPON WILL GO FORGOTTEN."
"There is no good and evil, only power and those too weak to seek it." My grandfather said these words without realizing their true meaning. He did seek power, but he was too scared to reach for it when the moment counted. He was too blinded by his only weakness: me.
I however, had no weakness. I began to learn that helping my grandfather regain power was not what I really wanted. I wanted power, power that only he could give me. I did his bidding for a while, pretending that his welfare was what I truly cared for. Many people died on my path for greatness, many people that cared deeply for me. I feel no guilt however, even with George. I have never felt anything in my life except a need for power. Emotions are a weakness. I have no weaknesses.
Now, you will know the true, uncensored story of our world.
