He-Who-Watches

He-Who-Watches

I watch him sleeping. I cannot get close to him; they won't let me. But they won't stop me from watching.

He sleeps lightly, breathing evenly, but refusing to relax his muscles even while his mind is unconscious. Black hair frames his young face. He is so young. I can tell his dreams are fitful, as well they should be. He stirs every little while.

I often wonder if he knows what fate has in store for him. What I have in store for him. I don't think he does. Perhaps it's better this way, better to let him have as happy a childhood as he can. Let him experience friendship before he tastes a lifetime of loneliness. It's best this way. And I could never have my plan succeed if he were to know.

It's a risky plan, but I can afford to take risks. Most every one thus far has paid off. Some would argue that I'm due for failure. I maintain I've already paid my price; the laws of averages should be on my side.

I wish I could explain it to the sleeping child. He deserves to know why this has been done, why he has been, from the time of his conception, a pawn, possessing only a mockery of normal life. But I can never tell him, or all thus far will have been in vain. Harry, I'd tell him, this is not chance. The fates have chosen you to be more than the others, to rise above the masses and to become far greater than anyone could imagine. But birth is not enough. You need training and opportunity to exploit these skills. And we are giving you those.

I don't pretend to be a good man. I don't pretend to have virtue. But I do know that I have power. I tried to tell you, in your first year. There is only power and those too weak to seek it. You wouldn't listen.

But I did plant that seed of possibility. You can't imagine the feeling you will have when it blossoms. Ecstasy, as you realize that all you have ever dreamed of can be yours, if you only strive for it enough.

You probably don't think yourself ambitious enough to fall into that. You'll protest that you are a Gryffindor, not a Slytherin. But I tell you, you'll change. The Gryffindor heart can be tainted by the venom of the snake. It will. I assure you, it will.

Your whole life, you have never been alone. You have had guards, wards, and protections beyond what you can imagine. Why? Why should a scrawny child deserve the best protection possible? No, it isn't because of your birthright. Then they would know that you could protect yourself. It is because of me. From your birth, Harry, I have been in your life. Even before your birth, I was seeking you.

It was prophesized that the greatest wizard of the millennium would be born in the last century. When I discovered this in my 6^th year at Hogwarts, I set about being sure that it was I. I had the power, the raw talent, and I had the ambition. I transformed myself, because surely an ordinary half-blood of no extraordinary parentage could never hope to achieve greatness. After my transformations were more or less complete, in the year before your birth, Harry, I found myself consulting a seer. "You are not he," she told me, "You are not the one foreseen."

Hopes dashed, plans ruined, I settled upon an alternate course. I would find you, I vowed, and I would make my mark on history.

I sought you. Using potions and spells of Dark and Light affiliation, I patiently found you. But my work had not gone unnoticed, and Albus Dumbledore moved to protect you. Feebly, and unnecessarily, as it resulted. I didn't want to kill you. I wanted to test you. The wizard in the prophecy was protected from birth by another, far more ancient magic. If you were he, you could not be killed by any mortal. Fate would intervene.

I came then, not to kill, but to take. I wanted you for my own. To raise you, guide you, teach you, use you. I killed your father; he was a Gryffindor of old, and would have fought to the death to keep you from me. I spared us all the battle. Your mother had been a Ravenclaw, and I had hoped she might have had the sense to allow events to proceed. She didn't. But know, Harry, that I never wanted either dead. If I could have had you without that...it would have been easier for all.

Though I had expected you to survive, I had never thought that the curse might rebound. Luck and precaution saved me that night. For years, I tried to return, to continue what I had failed before. All was not yet lost. There was still a chance.

I needed to get close to you, to find a willing host. And here entered Quirell. Decent people are so easy to manipulate. I sought to return to my true form, and we tried to find the philosopher's stone. We failed. But I did not fail entirely, for I had seen you, had made contact with you, and had planted within you the first small seeds to shape you. At age eleven, you began to be consumed by anger and hatred towards me. You began questioning your purpose. You matured. I left Quirell. He was expendable. You were not.

Two years more I lay in shadow, waiting for opportunity to strike. When fate sent me a servant, I set about doing what needed to be done. I needed to get close to you. And I needed to make you angry.

The biggest fault in most any Gryffindor, which you are, to my surprise and displeasure, is their penchant for over dramatized speeches, emotions, and thoughts. Everything is a calamity or a godsend, to a Gryffindor. I knew I could use this.

You had rejected any possible relationship I might have with you except that of Enemy, and Most Hated Foe. And so I use my Slytherin assets. Tactics. When a door shuts, a window opens, and that becomes the new path. I could still teach you, could still shape you. But I now needed to be circumspect.

So I made you angry, and in the process, made my return. And now, Harry, I will always be here. Watching over you, shaping the person you will become. You don't know what you will grow up to be, Harry. I do. You will be me.

You will be me, but invincible. Me, but loved by all. Me, but legally empowered. Me, but with the, admittedly few, advantages of a Gryffindor. You don't know this yet. I didn't know who I would be in 5^th year either. But Harry, your life is set.

Your anger at me will increase as I grow in power. We will fight, but I will not die. One by one, the ones who love you will move away. Some will die; others change as a result of the death of loved ones, and others still you will push away yourself. Until you are left alone, with nothing but your hatred to give you comfort on the dark, rainy nights. You will turn cold, as the world demands more of you. Which they will; after all, you are a hero, and when I rise, heroes are needed to bring me down. When you feel you have nothing left to give, when you are exhausted, despairing and desperate, then will the end be near.

By then, you will be tired of them all. Of me, for having begun this. Of your friends, for having abandoned you. You'll tire of the teachers and politicians who expect miracles from an adolescent boy, when it should be plain that all you want is to lie on the grass and feel the sun on your face. You'll tire most of the muggles, the throngs of ordinary people who can never know the pain you're going through to protect them. You'll tire of their smiles and laughter while every fiber of your body cries out in anguish. You'll tire of their ignorance. Because they can't understand.

It is in this hour that I will come to you, Harry. We will fight a monumental battle. You will win. I will diminish.

They'll thank you, and offer you a post at the ministry. Whether or not you accept is inconsequential. You won't be able to shake off your emotions. They will never appreciate you enough.

One day, an anonymous letter will arrive. It will show you the prophecy, and you will know that this is your destiny. Your ambition will be sparked. And then, oh, Harry, then, when I am gone, you will commence a regime like none have seen. You are Harry Potter, He-Who-Can-Do-No-Wrong. You have license. And when they tell you to calm down, to be careful, you will laugh in their faces. You live a life of risk, of death, and have since the day you were born. Caution has no place.

Slowly, gradually, your hatred will find its way out. Once you have the power, and can no longer hold back the pain, you will explode, a hurtling fireball of destructive vengeance. Your word will be law, and you will exercise that. And then your transformation will be complete. You will be Lord Voldemort. And it will be no surprise.

Harry interrupts the reverie by stirring, his hand reaching toward his scar. Yes, I think, this is how it will be. You have a long and traumatic journey ahead of you, but you will not flinch. You are a hero. I will sacrifice whatever necessary to make this come about. My cause will live on. I will be immortal, even if I have to die for it. I will live through you, Harry Potter, and they will love you. They say that I am mad. They are fools. I am only a man with a purpose, who is willing to give everything.