Secret Thoughts

Secret Thoughts

I didn't know what he looked like; I had never even wondered what he would be like in manner or looks. All I had cared about was whether I could compete with his greatness, and how I could stop him from ending the future I was yet to face.

I hadn't arranged for the diary to show the writer's face, although I could have come up with something. Ginny Weasley only wrote in the diary and didn't seem to be very good at drawing, nor was she interested in it. Still, it had never mattered to me. It had been a slight surprise for me to finally see Ginny after I had taken over her soul; such vibrant, fiery red hair, and as her small body lay unconscious on the floor, I took note of her vulnerability and innocence, and had I not been so eager to drag the frail sleeping body to the Chamber of Secrets to tempt Harry Potter's appearance, I would have taken a bit of time to touch her, inspect her, see if the silly little eleven-year-old I had been writing to all year had any hidden strengths in her, any secrets she had failed to show to me in her writing. But as it was, Harry Potter turned out to be a more interesting find.

I watched him enter the chamber, a skinny twelve-year-old who was on a noble mission to recover a missing student, and of course, if he had realized it himself, uncover a few intriguing secrets. I at first scoffed silently that even a one-year-old version of this unimpressive-looking boy could threaten the powers of my future identity, Lord Voldemort, who learnt much more than anyone would have imagined in a span of nearly forty years from the age of sixteen. Then the boy came into clearer view, and my perspective changed, and my fears resurfaced again.

How very fetching my future enemy was, almost radiating with resolve. His untidy black hair indicated a kind of disregard for order, and the round spectacles had charm, giving him a cute vulnerable look. His green eyes seemed to hold some sort of secret meaning, and they flashed with intensity with every turn of event. What got hold of me most was the air he had about him, not a self-satisfied sort of air, but more of an unwavering determination that never truly died as he attempted to revive Ginny Weasley, who was near death. I should have remembered this air when I battled with him later, but I was so confident that I forgot, and the slip cost me.

I snapped out of my almost dreamy observation of Harry Potter and forced myself to focus. I mentally went over my plan. Harry would be full of questions, of course. I had to coax him, but I was also to let him know that he was about to die at my feet. Or perhaps I could put him to some use yet before I killed him. I smiled to myself. It was something to anticipate.

My gaze fell on Harry Potter again. He was continuing his effort to rouse Ginny.