Title: See No Evil
Author: Ivory Moon
Rating: PG
Genre: Drama
Pairings: None
Summary: Voldemort contemplates the lives of three children. Dark.
Archive: If you like, but let me know where it's going, first.
Disclaimer: JK Rowling owns them. I own nothing but my undying devotion to her work. If I owned them, my sodding computer wouldn't be broken so often.
Author's Note: Another one of those odd first-person Harry Potter drabbles. It's not set in any particular time frame, I don't think. Anytime post-Philosopher's Stone, I suppose. A word of warning, this fic contains some Evil!Ron and and Evil!Hermione elements. I haven't seen too many stories featuring their darker sides, so I thought I would mention it. As always, please review before you go.
Cheers, Ivory Moon
I stare through the mists of time, and I think. That's all I do these days, is think. Too weak for much else, many would say. I prefer to think that I am healing...but it is slow. But I have patience in abundance. Thinking can be profitable, and today I muse, not on The Boy Who Survived, the one who often occupies my thoughts, but on others. I think on his friends, the ones who support him, stand by him, and receive no thanks, no recognition. Weasley and Granger. Perhaps he is vulnerable, through them. Perhaps...
The Weasley boy, the best friend, stands eclipsed by Potter's greatness. He seems content to stay there, in the shadows, but who knows for how long? One day, the friendship will die, burned in the fires of resentment and jealousy. One day, bitterness will replace contentment, anger over lost glories. I can see the spark burning already in young Weasley's soul.
He is from an incorruptible family, they say. His entire line is filled with demented muggle-lovers, not a one who ever turned dark. I know better, having controlled Weasley's sister for a time.
I know the truth. He is supremely corruptible.
Perhaps he will come to me himself, his simmering rage at Potter's exploits destroying what is good and pure. So much less work for me. The most delicious of ironies, that, to be betrayed by the one you thought a friend.
His father died that way.
Perhaps Weasley will wield the knife himself. How sublime, that The Boy Who Lived should die by the hand that should have protected him. The towering arrogance brought low by a hand that he will never expect.
It would be so simple...just a word here, an action there, whispers of poison threading through time and space, through his mind, his soul, bearing him ever closer to me. Whispers echoing his own darkest dreams, late at night, the ones he has never told to a soul. The ones that terrify him now, the ones dredging the deepest secrets from the blackest part of his mind. They frighten him now, but he will eventually learn to accept and embrace them for what they are: his truest desires, so rotted and twisted that the mirror of Erised would shatter before revealing them.
He is, after all, a lad of extremes, filled with great love and great hatred. How might I to set his hatred on his love? How to reverse them, to see him standing in awe before me with all his viciousness turned on that which he once cherished?
I wait, not eagerly, but with calculated patience, for the day when we may come face to face, Ronald Weasley. I look forward to meeting you.
The girl, Granger, is Potter's other friend. Perhaps not so slavishly devoted as Weasley, but still a constant to Potter. Hmm...she is said to be clever, too clever sometimes for her own good. This could prove to be the chink in her armour, just as Weasley's resentment is to his.
How far will she go in her thirst for knowledge, I wonder? Will she dabble in the Dark Arts, simply from her own curiosity? Will she decide she can control it, in her own foolish cleverness? How far could she be pushed?
A mudblood she is, to be sure, descended from little more than beasts, but still... I have always despised her kind, on principle, but she presents an enigma. A mudblood, yes, but seemingly capable of almost limitless power. The question remains of how to corrupt her, but here I come back to her cleverness. If she can be pushed into the fringes of the Dark Arts, she will continue on the path. If she can be persuaded to sample the power that the darkness offers, she will surely return. The Dark Arts are intoxicating, after all. She will come back, again and again, each time certain that she remains in control, having faith in her own deluded intelligence.
Using a mudblood to destroy muggles, how perfect. What a tremendous servant she would make.
Yes, Hermione Granger, believe in your cleverness, if you think that it will save you from me. Certainly you are powerful, but I am more intelligent and powerful by far. You will come to me, seeking knowledge, already travelling your dark road. Perhaps you will help Weasley to destroy The Boy Who Lived.
Together, they will turn away from the perfection, from the purity that is Potter Perhaps they already plot against him, he oblivious, seeing only their false smiles. If not, I will certainly help these children on their path. After all, I reward my faithful, and these two, when maturity has ripened their rage and cunning, their cruelty and intelligence, will be formidable servants.
It is impossible to be the friend of the hero. The rat Pettigrew showed it once, and Weasley will show it again. Such the circle continues. It is almost too easy...
Granger, in her avaricious quest for knowledge, will understand the truth where Potter could not. There is no right or wrong. There is only power, and those too weak to use it.
Granger and Weasley will be powerful, I know.
But the great Harry Potter will not live to see it.