Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to the wonderful Jk Rowling, who has the time, the patience and the Muses…
BOB: Hey!
To write a book.
AZREAL: This one was all my fault. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Father
I am stronger now, stronger than I have ever been before. My greatest enemy, the foolish boy, Harry Potter, is running scared. Like a frightened child, he runs for safety where ever he can find it. His friends, his pathetic godfather, the idiot Dumbledore.
And do you know why Dumbledore is an idiot?
He takes my children, the children of the dark side, and trains them in magic. He takes all those wonderful young witches and wizards, and educates them, gives them a home, feeds them, cares for them, for the best part of eight years.
And he doesn't realize that these children, *my* children, are so much worse than their parents could ever be.
Ah, Slytherin. My old school house. Dungeons and snakes and green and ambition, all wrapped up in one precious package.
I see them now, these young witches and wizards, outwardly arrogant, scheming and cold, but inside, full of fire and violence and confusion.
I can see into their hearts and into their minds.
I can see, much better than the mirror of Erised, what their deepest darkest, desires are.
Take Draco Malfoy, for instance. His father is a weak, sniveling fool, and his son sees that. At every Death Eater assembly Lucius likes to boast about his son, how devoted he is to his parents, when I know that Draco would like to have his father head on a platter.
These Death Eaters of tomorrow are far, far worse than anything that I could have had allied to me before. They know all the forbidden curses, the hexes, even the Unforgivables, that their parents are too frightened to use.
I hear their thoughts, their screams, and their petty arguments with Gryffindors. I want to help them, which is unusual-in the past all I looked after was number one, but now, with these children of darkness, I feel as if I was their biological father. I want to protect them, urge them on, be there for them when the loose and cheer for them when they succeed, for the bonds of darkness are stronger than the mere ties of blood.
If only Dumbledore knew about the power he has in his possession.
He could stamp out all evil in the world with only the Slytherin House, if he had their allegiance. But he doesn't. The only person Slytherin has any allegiance to is me. Voldermort. The Dark Lord. He who must not be named.
I whisper in their ears at night, calling to them, making sure that they answered. They love me, these children.
The new Death Eaters shall destroy the old, and then I shall have a force more loyal, more powerful and more cruel than anything the wizarding world has ever seen before.
All they have to do is wait until I call to them one last time.
Come to me, my little darling dark ones.
Come to Father.
BOB: Hey!
To write a book.
AZREAL: This one was all my fault. Heh. Heh. Heh.
Father
I am stronger now, stronger than I have ever been before. My greatest enemy, the foolish boy, Harry Potter, is running scared. Like a frightened child, he runs for safety where ever he can find it. His friends, his pathetic godfather, the idiot Dumbledore.
And do you know why Dumbledore is an idiot?
He takes my children, the children of the dark side, and trains them in magic. He takes all those wonderful young witches and wizards, and educates them, gives them a home, feeds them, cares for them, for the best part of eight years.
And he doesn't realize that these children, *my* children, are so much worse than their parents could ever be.
Ah, Slytherin. My old school house. Dungeons and snakes and green and ambition, all wrapped up in one precious package.
I see them now, these young witches and wizards, outwardly arrogant, scheming and cold, but inside, full of fire and violence and confusion.
I can see into their hearts and into their minds.
I can see, much better than the mirror of Erised, what their deepest darkest, desires are.
Take Draco Malfoy, for instance. His father is a weak, sniveling fool, and his son sees that. At every Death Eater assembly Lucius likes to boast about his son, how devoted he is to his parents, when I know that Draco would like to have his father head on a platter.
These Death Eaters of tomorrow are far, far worse than anything that I could have had allied to me before. They know all the forbidden curses, the hexes, even the Unforgivables, that their parents are too frightened to use.
I hear their thoughts, their screams, and their petty arguments with Gryffindors. I want to help them, which is unusual-in the past all I looked after was number one, but now, with these children of darkness, I feel as if I was their biological father. I want to protect them, urge them on, be there for them when the loose and cheer for them when they succeed, for the bonds of darkness are stronger than the mere ties of blood.
If only Dumbledore knew about the power he has in his possession.
He could stamp out all evil in the world with only the Slytherin House, if he had their allegiance. But he doesn't. The only person Slytherin has any allegiance to is me. Voldermort. The Dark Lord. He who must not be named.
I whisper in their ears at night, calling to them, making sure that they answered. They love me, these children.
The new Death Eaters shall destroy the old, and then I shall have a force more loyal, more powerful and more cruel than anything the wizarding world has ever seen before.
All they have to do is wait until I call to them one last time.
Come to me, my little darling dark ones.
Come to Father.