The Dark Lord- Five Years before Hermione's Incarceration
Wednesday's child
Wears glasses up-side down
To see the world right-side up
She sees in Grays and greens and Gold
Glass flowers falling from the sky
To tangle in her hair
Cut her eyes wide open
She bleeds, she bleeds and bleeds
As it all breaks beneath her feet
She bleeds up into the sky
Or, the sky could collapse,
Settle at her feet
Then she'd have nothing left to stand on
Beside…
The sky
Now jagged masses, icy and cruel
Unreal
Ethereal
Sheer, shrill
Vague, vapor
Hazed
Craze, blaze
Blue fire
Ricocheting in your empty ribcage
Or a deep crevice
Essence of desire
Or an eternal sky
A reflection of an endless sea
Pulling down the moon
Pushing apart the land
Crashing against
Thrashing, writhing, thriving
Crushing, spraying, splashing
Bashing
Then, waning, sinking, diving
Retreating into itself
Succumbing to envelopment
To hibernate, wait
To appreciate
Alleviate
Expurgate
Just to be lured back into its' own trap,
A cycle and a cage
A cycle within a cage of itself
Enslaved by the moon
By its love, or not love, obsession
Its own obsession
(pick one)
Its own
Inherent
Upon introspection
Honesty
Honor
And death
The way of nature
Leading to perfection
Silence and stone
The deepness of the ocean
The curve of…
Obsidian
A somber butterfly
A sobering sweetness fluttering by
Daintily flitting, a reminder of something lost
Of something old becoming new
Free
(Free from obligation
Conscience
Law
Society)
Guilt
Lord Voldemort was one of the few to appreciate and to cultivate the rare talent of seeing beauty in the most real and exquisite pain. In the kind of pain that tears at your guts; the kind of pain that quickens your blood flow while crushing your heart. The sort of pain that has claws and could almost rip you open from the inside, shred your flesh and crawl out. In the kind of pain that can only be self-inflicted or produced by the most intimate of betrayals. Pain is reality, pain is life.
Betrayal, the actual deed is much less prettier than the idea of it. So beautiful in thought-up scenarios, so terribly harsh in reality. So very powerful either way. If you can hurt someone physically or emotionally you have that power over them. By not wishing to use it, you gain more.
His regret was not being able to inflict that sort of pain personally, or feel that kind of pain himself. He hadn't been capable since he was a young boy of eighteen. But he could still be the cause of it indirectly. The puppeteer.
Before Hermione had been so exposed to the Dark Lord, she would have argued that. She might have screamed, "Don't you know how many fathers you kill, how many children you have taken from their mothers? How many lovers have been separated by your cruelty, your chaos! Your ideas, your war? You cause so much hurt."
Only after being whim to his manipulations she would truly understand that there was pain worse than being separated from your lover by death. And sometimes you can hurt yourself far worse than any other being. Accepting truths about yourself and loved ones can take more courage than seeing your death in the enemy's eyes as their wand digs into your skin.
"My war is impersonal, and as of yet, you know nothing of my cruelty." Is what Lord Voldemort may have told a young and tender-hearted Hermione Granger.
Either you could appreciate beauty at its most unconventional and violent or you couldn't. Lord Voldemort saw in Miss Granger the potential of his younger self, but unlike his younger self he felt she needed a nudge in the right direction. She had that potential but she didn't seem to surround herself with those that did or ever would. He wanted to open her eyes, watch her grow into herself, her own ambitions, and his. He could provide her with the necessary environment. No one thought to question the reasons or motivations behind his actions. No one had dared for a long while.
Lord Voldemort would do whatever needed doing to accomplish his goals. He proved that with his first murder and every murder since then.