Typification of an Evil Man

Typification of an Evil Man
-Renaissance Man

“You’ll meet the same sticky end as your parents one of these days, Harry Potter,” he said softly.

“They were meddlesome fools, too.”

-Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets, JK Rowling

I know what that little brat is thinking; what he believes is true. He thinks that I’m evil; that I’m up to no good. …Perhaps I am evil, and up to no good.

But I suppose we won’t know until the end of my days, when I stand before the final judgment court, which seems to be drawing nearer with each day. But I do know that what I told the boy was the most truthful thing he’ll ever hear in his life, no matter how much he will deny it, shrugging it off as a crazy man’s words.

…Perhaps I am a bit crazy.

I bounded down the quite excessive amount of stairs in this castle, eager to get out. Finally reaching the gates, I stepped out, and felt that now sickening magical and mystical airs dropping out of me and shattering on the ground beneath my feet.

My, my, Hogwarts can look quite run down from this point of view, I mused to myself, talking one last look at the damned castle. Abruptly about-facing, I apparated to my home; right into my study, without the usual flourishes and grandeur.

I paced up and down the small room, letting my anger boil itself over until it couldn’t simmer any longer, flinging Tom Riddle’s diary against the wall with a satisfying crash. Eventually, after using all the pensive energy, the anger cooled to a twitch of annoyance in the back of my mind. I let myself fall into my old, worn-in armchair, suddenly feeling drained of all energy. Narcissa vehemently disapproved of this armchair, claiming that it was old and ugly. Needless to say, it took refuge in my study, along with many other items that can be called “sentimental” to me. I summoned a bottle of firewhisky from a discreet drawer in my desk, and took a nip straight from the bottle. My study was something for me to marvel at, although other people may say it’s cluttered, dark, and drab, with entirely too little space. That’s why I don’t allow anyone other than myself in here anymore. It’s a beautiful room, really. It reflects every aspect of my personality and thoughts. Too bad no one else has seen it, since they can’t see my personality by, say, talking with me, or even getting married to me.

Setting the open bottle on the nearest shelf, I held up my hands, the left one being smeared with ink and blood from the diary.

“Harry…Potter…” I mumbled to myself, holding up my unmarked right hand, and stretching it. “…Lord Voldemort,” I directed towards my tainted left hand. A smile of amusement crept along my face, though I wasn’t happy by any stretch of the imagination.

My hands were exactly alike, except one it right and one is left, and one is clean and one is dirty. But I can always clean my left hand…or I could stain my right hand.

That damned Potter boy acted so much like his father, it made my blood boil. Like James, Harry had such a sense of righteousness, black and white, with no room for gray area. So innocent, so naive. Psh.

Maybe when he gets older he’ll see what I see. He’s not good, and I’m not evil.

At least this is my theory.

Tell me, what would the wizarding world do without Voldemort and the Death Eaters? Prance around with joy and happiness until the rest of time? I highly doubt that. Most likely prance around with joy and happiness until they go crazy with repression of the deadly sins. I know more about human nature than most give me credit for. If you hide a natural thing long enough, may it be hunger, lust, or even evil, it will burst, and burst uncontrollably. People aren’t meant to be all good, especially wizards. Hah, it’s taken the “good” wizards thousands of years to develop techniques and theories that we “evil” wizards developed in, about, three days, with a little help. It’s not a coincidence. Evil is so underrated. It’s not a bad thing. Whoever said evil was bad? It’s an aspect of life. We know this. My son knows this, though I fear he may be going about it in the wrong way by taunting the Potter boy so. It’s all right, though, for he is still a child.

The world can’t stand united if it is all pure and good. There would be nothing to live for.

I picked up my bottle of whisky again, sipping and swishing the bitter liquid around in my mouth.

Well, the Death Eaters do have reasons for our agendas, and I know the…good wizards, I thought with venom, would understand one day, though I’m not sure how they’ll react. I chuckled softly to myself. They are missing out on so much, they’ll never know. Or maybe they will know, I’ve never been a diviner.

I’m not evil, I thought, slumping back into my chair. They think I’m a coward for bending to kiss Lord Voldemort’s shoes, but I’m no coward. They are the cowards, for refusing to live in the real world, and realize what’s sitting right in front of them. I’m not a coward, because I refuse to live in their fantasy world, and brave enough to face reality. This is reality.

Harry Potter is such a foolish boy, letting himself be used by Dumbledore. And Dumbledore is even more the fool for letting the boy fight for his idiotic little ideals of a perfect world.

Well, screw you, Dumbledore, because that is never, ever going to happen, in the wizarding or in the muggle world.

The alcohol finally took it’s final effect, and I fell asleep in my armchair, finally feeling at peace, at least until I wake up.

FIN