Making Us~T. Riddle

Chapter 5

"Why do you do it?"

The voice startled me, but I kept still and forced myself to finish the sentence I was reading, before slowly closing my book and turning in my chair to see Cerelia leaning against one of the old wooden bookshelves, watching me.

She had not approached me in two days, since the incident with the Thestral and I'd hoped that meant we would go back to ignoring each other.

I was doing some light reading in the far hidden away corner of the library. Alatar was off causing some form of mischief and I hadn't felt up to the socializing today, so I had snuck away and hidden in my private corner, until I was discovered.

"Why do I do what, Sallow?" I asked, deciding to humor her.

She invited herself and plopped down onto the seat across from me, ignoring my scowl as she propped her fist beneath her chin and rested her elbow on the desk. She was wearing a bright yellow hoody that almost matched her pale hair, and her large doe like eyes seemed wide in wonder, like they always did. It was annoying.

"Why do you play your games? Why do you blackmail and manipulate and hurt? What goal are you working towards?"I blinked at her. She really was not as stupid as she looked. Most people would have assumed I was simply a horrible person, but she reached further than that.

Or she read far too many fantasy stories.

Why did I do those things? I knew the answer better than I knew myself, maybe because it was all I could ever be. I would never be a lover or a father or someone to rely on, but I would be the savior of the wizarding world, whether they knew to thank me or not.

I did all the things I did because it was necessary to reach what would be the greater cause. Wizards could roam the world and never have to worry about hiding their gifts from the simplicity of muggles. They were weaker and lesser and should bow at our feet.

"What makes you think there's a goal?" I inquired, tilting my head and leaning back in my chair.

She blew a hair out her face. "You don't see like the type to go through that trouble just to see if you can."

My lips twitched and I leaned  across the desk, my face close to hers. "Can I ask you something?"

She nodded, seeming startled at our close proximity.

"When people inquire as to 'why' something is being done are they looking for the truth, or asking for what they want to be the truth?"

She was puzzled, clearly.

"I don't have some righteous reason for the things I do, so stop looking for one."

I slid away before gracefully getting up and leaving her alone at the desk, knowing that she would most probably put my book away for me.

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I was around ten when I asked Mister Arkin what fear felt like. He seemed surprised by this, but I was nothing but curious. I didn't think I had ever truly been afraid before, not even when one of the boys had tried to shove my head into the toilet, and ended up soaking wet because all the sinks in the school bathroom had burst at once.

Though I thought I knew what it should feel like.

Your muscles would freeze up, your breath would catch in your throat, there would be a metallic taste in your mouth from biting down too hard. But only when your eyes were blown wide open and your blood froze, would you hear it; the sound of your heart.

Thump. Thump. Thump.

He had told me that he didn't know, because men didn't get afraid. I thought he was a liar.

I had seen Jimmy cry when we were five because he was afraid of the dark. I had seen the flash in Winston's eyes right before a senior had clocked him in the face. Then there was Amelle and the sheer horror in his eyes when a gusting wind came out of nowhere after he had pushed me down, and he lost his footing and allowed the wind to carry him over the edge of the cliff.

That fieldtrip had been cut short to say the least.

But nothing compared to the fear in Miss Lance's voice when her son got run over by a horse and was told that he was lucky to be alive.

Fear, like all things important, came in different shapes and shade's and it seemed like fear and love made for a lethal combination.

Therefore it was the only failsafe to fall back on in any plan. You could try the long way and manipulate and sweet talk your way through what you want, or when you had little time and the mark was unyielding you fall back on fear or love or in the worst case scenario; both.

Luckily for me it remained the one thing that everyone fell victim to, Muggles and wizards alike. This meant that itworked wonders when I threatened Landar Kayworth into stealing one or two ingredients from professor Slughorn's storage and taking the blame for it.

I tossed some salamander eyes into the mixture and slowly stirred until the color changed to sickly purple. It smelled horrible, but that was okay because in two more days it would be finished and I would be fit with the task of slipping it into a certain professors pumpkin juice.

It would do nothing too drastic, only send our lovely Herbolgy teacher to St Mungo's for a week tops. Less if she's lucky. I only needed four days to plant and grow the thing I had in mind, but it required the right soil and that professor never missed anything in the green houses, especially not anything deadly.

In her absence Mulch would look over and feed the plants, he knew enough not to screw up, but he wouldn't notice anything new. I rolled my shoulders in an attempt to ease the pain in my neck.

I could just stop. I could simply ease into a life of a normal wizard and worry more about my O.W.L's than destroying a world that did not want me. But the hate in me had been born at a young age, and if I did not save us, the wizarding world would never truly gain power. I was young but I knew exactly what I had to do.

Casualties would occur, but it would be necessary for what is to come. War always had its loss.