A Brilliant Mind
Wasted.
I knew there was something in permitting others to think you were a lesser being than you actually were. The reward for outsmarting them came with a much larger feeling of inferiority on their part. I had done things, seen things, most grown wizards my age could only dream of—or have nightmares about. Creatures were far too easy to manipulate to ones whims if one only knew how to control them.
They love attention—even the vilest of creatures. Vampires required praise and a sense of respect for their kind. Their unnatural beauty made praise far too easy and their prideful minds would never pick up on lies. Humans—muggles—they were far too easy to please. A brilliant mind was a prized possession to some and mine, mine was no exception. I learned—to my advantage—that parts of the world believed in magic.
African sorcerers, witch doctors—what-have-you—they relished in my magical aura. I was taken to a rather developed city to meet a Prince. He required a service—a zombie was terrorizing his people. A mere spell and it was gone. I received one of his own personal turbans as gratitude. They told the tale of a pale man, an evil man, who had done many horrible things. Mass tortures, destruction of towns and villages. I knew who they were speaking of—Albus would talk so freely of him. The Dark Lord—Voldemort, but he would call him Tom.
Animals, their minds so simple, a mere wave of my hand and I could have any of my desires fulfilled at a simple command. Trolls were no different, if the markings at Hogwarts were anything to go by—to receive a T, there was no hope for you as a wizard. I am only human myself though and as thus, I have a weakness. One that Voldemort grew knowledgeable of, one he used to his advantage.
With a great mind, one felt superior to those holding a lesser intelligence. I could do things, grand things, without the aide of my wand. Often with ease, as if it exerted little to no energy at all. I was promised grand rewards if I offered my services to Voldemort. I saw no reason to call him the Dark Lord—what had he done? Gain more powers, prove he was as evil as his ancestor? I knew of his blood status and how hypocritical he was.
He and I had a common trait—we had no hearts. There was no room for love in our lives. It was a useless thing to us. We’d lasted this long without it, why need it? With the promise of my vast rewards, I agreed to offer my services to Voldemort. I was to be a vessel for what was left of him after his fiasco at the Potter’s. I returned to Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with Voldemort in my body.
I met the Potter boy. Voldemort mocked his short stature, but most of all, the boy’s ignorance of a world that worshiped the ground he walked on. He knew nothing of the night his parents died. He didn’t know that one of the vilest wizards to live was within an arms reach of him. The same wizard who gave him the scar upon his forehead; I merely played my part—a fool. My travels were to have gotten to me, or so others were led to believe.
I took particular notice to Potter and the two he deemed his closest friends. A Weasley boy and a mudblood—Ginger? Granger? Her name was of no importance to me. Severus Snape was paying particular attention to me as well. Albus kept his distance, a quick welcome back and he left me well alone. Those three brats figured something was going on and with Snape as their main suspect, I knew I was succeeding.
The Philosopher’s stone was of great importance to Voldemort. He knew that with it, he’d be able to prolong his life. Why? Merlin only knew. I was able to figure out where it was hidden—after I realized it was removed from the vault at Gringotts. The moment Voldemort realized, he seized control of my body. We quickly made it to the guarded storage room where we were confronted with the Mirror of Erised.
The moment the Potter boy appeared atop the stairs, Voldemort swelled with anger. I told the boy the truth, he was smart, but not smart enough. Voldemort seized control of my body and demanded the boy give him the stone. My arms reached for the stone in the boy’s hand and as Potter touched me, it burned. The scream I heard within my mind was maddening. I was shown a brief memory of Voldemort’s, a woman diving before a small infant and a flash of green.
Potter’s mother—Voldemort couldn’t stand his touch. I heard his growl of disappointment. By then, it was far too late, Potter had begun destroying my body. The last thing I heard was another maddening scream in my mind as Voldemort withdrew himself completely from my body. The scream soon became my own as my body burned beneath the touch. As darkness overwhelmed me, I welcomed my death.
They love attention—even the vilest of creatures. Vampires required praise and a sense of respect for their kind. Their unnatural beauty made praise far too easy and their prideful minds would never pick up on lies. Humans—muggles—they were far too easy to please. A brilliant mind was a prized possession to some and mine, mine was no exception. I learned—to my advantage—that parts of the world believed in magic.
African sorcerers, witch doctors—what-have-you—they relished in my magical aura. I was taken to a rather developed city to meet a Prince. He required a service—a zombie was terrorizing his people. A mere spell and it was gone. I received one of his own personal turbans as gratitude. They told the tale of a pale man, an evil man, who had done many horrible things. Mass tortures, destruction of towns and villages. I knew who they were speaking of—Albus would talk so freely of him. The Dark Lord—Voldemort, but he would call him Tom.
Animals, their minds so simple, a mere wave of my hand and I could have any of my desires fulfilled at a simple command. Trolls were no different, if the markings at Hogwarts were anything to go by—to receive a T, there was no hope for you as a wizard. I am only human myself though and as thus, I have a weakness. One that Voldemort grew knowledgeable of, one he used to his advantage.
With a great mind, one felt superior to those holding a lesser intelligence. I could do things, grand things, without the aide of my wand. Often with ease, as if it exerted little to no energy at all. I was promised grand rewards if I offered my services to Voldemort. I saw no reason to call him the Dark Lord—what had he done? Gain more powers, prove he was as evil as his ancestor? I knew of his blood status and how hypocritical he was.
He and I had a common trait—we had no hearts. There was no room for love in our lives. It was a useless thing to us. We’d lasted this long without it, why need it? With the promise of my vast rewards, I agreed to offer my services to Voldemort. I was to be a vessel for what was left of him after his fiasco at the Potter’s. I returned to Hogwarts as the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor with Voldemort in my body.
I met the Potter boy. Voldemort mocked his short stature, but most of all, the boy’s ignorance of a world that worshiped the ground he walked on. He knew nothing of the night his parents died. He didn’t know that one of the vilest wizards to live was within an arms reach of him. The same wizard who gave him the scar upon his forehead; I merely played my part—a fool. My travels were to have gotten to me, or so others were led to believe.
I took particular notice to Potter and the two he deemed his closest friends. A Weasley boy and a mudblood—Ginger? Granger? Her name was of no importance to me. Severus Snape was paying particular attention to me as well. Albus kept his distance, a quick welcome back and he left me well alone. Those three brats figured something was going on and with Snape as their main suspect, I knew I was succeeding.
The Philosopher’s stone was of great importance to Voldemort. He knew that with it, he’d be able to prolong his life. Why? Merlin only knew. I was able to figure out where it was hidden—after I realized it was removed from the vault at Gringotts. The moment Voldemort realized, he seized control of my body. We quickly made it to the guarded storage room where we were confronted with the Mirror of Erised.
The moment the Potter boy appeared atop the stairs, Voldemort swelled with anger. I told the boy the truth, he was smart, but not smart enough. Voldemort seized control of my body and demanded the boy give him the stone. My arms reached for the stone in the boy’s hand and as Potter touched me, it burned. The scream I heard within my mind was maddening. I was shown a brief memory of Voldemort’s, a woman diving before a small infant and a flash of green.
Potter’s mother—Voldemort couldn’t stand his touch. I heard his growl of disappointment. By then, it was far too late, Potter had begun destroying my body. The last thing I heard was another maddening scream in my mind as Voldemort withdrew himself completely from my body. The scream soon became my own as my body burned beneath the touch. As darkness overwhelmed me, I welcomed my death.