Tom Riddle was a writer, and a hell of a good one.
Well, he didn't have his name on the front of his books, all right, but who did these days? It was dangerous to write. It was dangerous to think. So he fashioned himself a new name, a name every guilty person should be afraid to say: Voldemort.
Through his words, he could mock and he could hurt and he could destroy those who deserved it. Tom didn't even need to imagine characters, no. All he had to do was create a new fiction; a new story; a new world. And then write down what people had done and what they would do. He had always been marvellous with metaphors, anyway.
It took only someone half informed on the whereabouts of the world to figure out which character was inspired on whom. More than one life had ended by L. Voldemorts's hand, and he liked that. People should fear him, people should watch their actions.
It was true most of his characters were sarcastic caricatures of important men and women, but a few were original ones. He liked those more specially than anything on his books. Harry Potter, the boy who had had his parents killed while protesting for LGBT equality, always followed by Ronald Weasley, with head hair and a tendency to run away – those where examples.
And yet.
Yet if one only asked Tom what made him more proud to have accomplished with his fiction, he'd say it was the creation of that one fictionary girl – she had a bushy brown hair, round brown eyes, and front teeth a bit too big; he knew her image better than his own, for she lived in his mind. Tom could even describe the way her skin felt against one's touch, the way her hair shone on a summer day, the way she ate her lips when she was bored. What made him proud, thought, was not her appearance, for appearance means nothing on books . The thing that really mattered was her personality, who she actually was.
She was called Hermione Granger, a young attorney with a head position on the MM Company. Hermione loved to read, because she loved the knowledge – be it about a magic world called Oz, be it about Russian culture. Since she was a kid, the girl had been on her own, so she taught herself how to be happy this way. Now, she had friends (the famous Harry Potter and his faithful friend Ronald Weasley) and protected them fiercely against anything. Hermione was fearless and yet sensitive. She could cry if someone hurt her – but only if that someone was important. You would see Hermione's sad eyes for an argument with Potter, but she would never shake for an insult thrown by the villain of the book.
She was strong.
She was proud.
She was his pride.
It took Tom seven books to realize he had fallen in love for his character. Not that it had taken seven books for this to happen, per see. When he looked back, Tom was pretty sure he was half in love by the end of the second book. It only took him this long to accept to himself he had positively went nuts and was in love with a book character. His book character.
Tom supposed this was not what people meant when they said "I love that character". But oh well.
The love thing should not have been a problem, had it not began to influence in his work. Hermione was supposed to end up with Ron Weasley. His whole series had led to that moment, one way or another, but he simply could not bring himself to do it. The red head was a nice bloke, don't get him wrong, however, he simply wasn't worth of Hermione. She was too bright, too kind. No one deserved her. So suddenly Ron had to die (shot in the heart by a gang member, following orders of The President).
As the story went on, the writer in him ordered that Hermione should be the next. She should die so his main character – Harry Potter – could have a new development and take a road leading him to become the new villain of his series (now he would be inspired on a certain politician called Grindelwald who once was known for defending the immigrant's rights, but presently had a project to stop them all from entering the country).
Again, Tom could not bring himself to do so. Even worse than putting Hermione with a man unworthy of her, would be to kill her. It would be bad. It would be wicked. It would positively break him.
Once more did he change the story. Harry died (buried alive by the same gang that had victimized his former best friend).
Hermione lived.
And she became the new villain.
And Tom loved her even more.
Because as a nice girl, as the best friend of the main character, she was oh so good, but as the villain she was even better. It was like she had been born to that part. It was like all this time, he had misjudge his writer's instinct – it had never wanted her do be disposed, it had wanted her to reach her full potential.
Hermione murdered now, but so kindly one would almost wish to die by her hands. She manipulated so sweetly one would follow her without second thoughts. Everything she did had an ulterior motive, so strong the readers understood her and cheered her: she wanted vengeance; she wanted peace. She had became the perfect evil mistress. So perfect Tom could not bring himself to take her down. So perfect no one wanted her to be taken down.
She powered on.
She lived on.
He did not.
It's known most genius are a little too eccentric and have their lives ended a little too soon.