A/N- I am going to be utterly shocked if this doesn't happen by the end of book seven....
A/N 2- This fic came from an interesting origin. The idea has been stewing in my mind for ages and the hours I have wasted trying to prove it....ugh.....Well, one day when I was raging mad, I pulled out my journal and started writing. After about four pages I realized, hey! I'm writing that fic I've been meaning to do! And so it happened. Filled up well over half the book. AS you can see, this version is cut down greatly, because who wants to read fifty pages of this/ ^_^; Speaking of which, the style is choppy and cut. This is because I am NOT writing Draco or Lucius here. I am writing someone else. Someone who obviously has other ways of getting the point across and of writing.
Summary: A deeper look brings out darker secrets.....One young student is suddenly nothing like who everything thought..... *I am not trying to keep the character a secret. It should be obvious by the second paragraph.
Rated: I'd have to say PG13.....Why? Repeated use of a swear [very repeated]. Extreme darkness. And the concept is, in my opinion, unsettling.
Anger is Livid, Hatred is Deep
Just let me say this. Please. I won't be around when you read this, so there shall never be a 'discussion' again. But just read this. Let me get it out. Let me tell someone. Know me now. Because I will never be the same again. Know me now because you have never known me before.
I hate this damned place. I hate these people. Everyone everywhere is so cruel underneath it all. I want to leave. I want to run away and never tell anyone. I want to escape from this country and go somewhere where no one will ever find me. Recognize me. Know who I am and bring me back to this ugly place where they say I belong. But who would say that? I am nothing to everyone. I never will be anything unless I go against life itself.
I want no part of this life. I never did. I never asked for it. If I had known what life would be like, I would never have been born. I do not want to be who I am. I do not want to know the people I know. I wish I never existed. I don't even want to bother dying. Because nobody will care.
I've always hated this place. I've always hated them. I've never been on good terms with any of them no matter what people say and think. It's all lies. They think I'm mad, insane. Well. Maybe I am. But what does it matter? We all go mad eventually. I want out. Out of this place. Out of myself.
I pretend to not mind. I pretend, yet this is always a seething mass beneath me. I can cover up well. Or at least I thin I can. Nobody's seen. Nobody's cared perhaps.
I have many friends. Or so I think I do. But how many actually care about me? How many only pretend? How long have I led my life, goaded on by pity I could have sown was friendship? How long have I been fooled by my classmates? How long has everything been for nothing? Damn it all. Damn all of them. No one's ever cared about me. It's all lies. A pack of bloody lies. That's what my damned life...No, existence is.
Everything has always been so. I'm the reject in a rejected family. I don't do well in school. I'm not the one singled out because I did something great. I never did anything. I can't even make people laugh well. I'm useless and poor and what comes out of that? Nothing.
Now I understand why some end up as they do. Why Tom Marvolo Riddle became who he became. He was poor and alone and hated, and he feared above all the one thing that could free him from the pain. Death. He feared death, so he decided to change his life in other ways. He had good reason to do what he did. He never had any 'friends' to worry about. And most likely, my friends aren't my friends. All that comes to mind now is the fights I used to wage with them, inside and out. They went deep. Hatred was created. Those weren't surface fights like I let on. Something was born within me and swept me up and away. With each passing day I look at my friends and family with it and it grows. Or perhaps it looks at them. But it gives me power. It makes me feel better.
It is not anger. Anger is livid, this is more than that. This runs even deeper. It is hatred. Hatred is always deeper. A mature form of anger.
It grows and it grows. And it's becoming me. Was this what happened to him? Was this what happened to Tom Riddle? Was this what made him who he is now? This absence of something that becomes something else.
Like how the absence of light becomes darkness.
And the absence of love becomes hatred.
There is no difference between the two. There is no difference between Tom Riddle and I. Some claim that Harry has much in common with this young Voldemort. But he doesn't. They look alike. They're both half-blooded orphans. They both shall a skill. That is all. What do I share with him? All the emotions. All the being knocked to the side to make room for someone else business. Emotions are deeper than physical appearances. Every idiot knows that. But then again, nobody knows how I really am.
I look at my two best friends. One is the most famous boy in the wizarding world. He will be famous for years. The names of his friends shall fall away, but his name won't. Even when it's nothing but a few scars in a gravestone. The other one is the smartest girl in the school. They're both nice, but I always thought people would notice me a bit more. But no one does. Little Harry outshines everyone, except maybe Hermione, Miss Genius. I'm sick of it. Damned sick of it. What am I? The nothing that follows them around. Like Neville. But Neville at least has people who notice him. People know he's pathetic, and like/hate him for it. People know him. And he doesn't have siblings like I do.
One of these boys is a Quidditch champion. Two were perfects and head boys. The other two can make anyone laugh. They could make Voldemort break down and laugh. Laugh from the heart. And the last one? My sister? The youngest, the most innocent, the only girl. What am I? How did I miss out on everything? Why am I a nobody even in my own family? A poor family at that, with no recognition except for a bunch of blunders.
We're not even rich like the Malfoys. Every time I see that boy I am filled with seething contempt. Draco Malfoy. One of the richest boys in the wizarding world. And he can become a Death Eater if he wants to and gain fame. Rich and famous. He's good at Quidditch too. He gets good grades. He has most of the school fearing him. His father is one of the most imposing men ever to stalk into the Ministry. He has no ugly siblings to cast shadows over him. He even looks good. I hate him. He has everything in the world and he doesn't even give a damn. He just sees I have nothing and he laughs. Doesn't even use his great intellect to think about what he's doing. Or maybe he does, and is merely spiting me.
They say that it is the rich who suffer later in life. They say that it is the poor who flourish. The ones who are not spoiled when young shall be rewarded is what they all say. That's a lie. I have yet to be rewarded, and I'm fifteen. Not old enough, I know. But enough for me. Fifteen years has been enough for me. I'm not trying to hide anymore. I don't care anymore.
So long has this been happening. Years. My entire life. I understood it. And that is why I hated it, loathed, despised, detested. My life. Yet no one else has realized this. Nobody has cared or even thought about it. They all think I am happy. What kind of damn fool could be happy in the conditions of my life? Where not even my own family cares about me?
I have lived my life in nothing. Have you not ever noticed? Has anyone noticed? All the times I got into fights with my friends. Over simple things. But they were not simple, they were everything to me. A cat. A goblet.
They raged and raged for all time, these fights. Why? The cat. Hermione's cat. He killed, or tried to kill, the one thing in the world that ever looked up to me. And the goblet. Harry's goblet I suppose. The Goblet that bought yet more fame to my best friend and even less to me.
What am I? People see the three of us walking down the hall. I can still remember the whispers. I shall remember them forever.
{"There! That's Harry Potter!"
"Really?"
"Yes! And that girl is Hermione Granger! She's the smartest witch ever to set foot in this school they say!"
"But is that really Harry?"
"Yes! He killed the Dark Lord!"}
What about the red-headed boy between them? Never once have I been mentioned. Never once have people even asked about me. I have heard people try to point out Harry by saying he's beside the red-haired boy, but that is all. Nothing more. That is all I am to them.
I have stood there. I have heard many things. I remember how Mad-Eye Moody, or Barty Crouch, said that Harry and Hermione would make great Aurors. He said nothing to the boy in the middle. Maybe he knew. Maybe he knew with that eye that I never would be. But could he not have at least said it anyhow? Just to make me feel better? But no. I'm not worth the time, the waste of breath.
The more shadows, the darker it is. I'm in the darkest part. I have all my siblings above me, casting shadow upon shadow. I am what is left. The weak link. The dark shadow. Besides, they are too heavy for me. I need to defeat all this. Before it kills me.
There is but one thing that can raise me from this damned ground.
The darkness.
Then people shall know my name. Then people shall know that I, the youngest Weasley boy, became something more terrifying and famous than anyone in his family. Larger even then his old friends and rivals.
And the people who have shadowed me so greatly shall bring me to my fame ultimately. Harry Potter. Hermione Granger. And the Weasley family in it's entirety. I never was, remember? I know their secrets. Their weaknesses. And they trust me. And I can do what not even Lord Voldemort could do.
Kill Harry Potter.
For a name the entire world knows is Lord Voldemort. And he has the power to bring up into the higher grounds. Have us be known. I had one fleeting moment of fame when Sirius Black nearly stabbed me. and I loved it. I loved people coming and talking to me, whispering my name. Knowing my name. Every second of it I craved.
Malfoy used to make a mistake and call Percy 'Peter'. The only Peter I ever knew was the one who betrayed his friends and joined the dark. Malfoy shouldn't have called Percy that. He should have called me that. He calls me weasel instead, which may be just as well. Rat. Weasel. What's honestly the difference? Both are loathed by humans. For all eternity.
I am going to become what no Weasley has ever become before. I am going to rise above everyone. This thing within me is growing, thriving, blooming, with every word I write.
I know what is happening.
I am going to be the next Dark Lord.
Goodbye, Mother. It's a pity you never got to know me. You never even tried. Maybe if you had, I wouldn't be this way. But I understand. You think everyone else is better.
Sorry, Mum. You're wrong. Dead wrong.
Your son,
Ronald Weasley