Oedipean Revolution

Oedipean Revolution

 

 

_______

 

The path we followed wrapped upon itself as a many-coiled
serpent, its course at once circuitous and labyrinthine.

~Grandia II

_______

 

 

 

 

 

Am I evil? I don’t feel particularly evil, if truth be told.
I am sure there are those who would gladly point the pedantic, moralistic
finger and decry me as the very incarnation of everythingruptrupt in this
world. I remain fairly certain that Dumbledore does not do this for the simple
reason that he believes me led astray by the craving for power. After all,
everyone seems to be redeemable in his knowing eyes.

 

However, even he, slayer of my successor, Grindelwald, does
not fully conceive the reason behind my pragmatic actions. The End that I seek
is not Aristotle’s Happiness. It is not even power or immortality, contrary to
popular and erroneous belief.

 

I desire evolution.

 

Human beings have reached evolutionary stagnation. We have
defied natural selection and so have fallen from the natural order of all things.
However, muggles have managed to circumvent this quandary through their
technological advancements. Though their genetics remain, for the most part,
constant, their ingenuity bounds forward and spawns legions of new inventions.

 

This was not always the case, though. The Dark Age, as the
muggles call it, saw those without magic slavishly dependent upon those with
it. Then a witch or a wizard was respected, most of timetimes feared as well.
We did not need to hide ourselves away like some dirty, unmentionable secret,
the proverbial unwanted child.

 

Yet, during this time, the Wizarding world was experiencing
its last Golden Age. Due to the demands of the Dark Age muggles, wizard
ingenuity and resourcefulness achieved levels of truly inspiring greatness that
have not been seen since. New, groundbreaking spells were invented. Wizards
made their dreams into reality and turned reality into dreams. It was a time of
mind numbing innovation and creativity.

 

And all because muggles depended upon us for solutions to
their problems. Like societies dependent upon slave labor, the muggles had no
need to develop their own methods of performing tasks by non-magical means.
They were the ones sitting complacently in the rut of advancement. They were
the ones declining through their own sloth and dependence.

 

Things changed—for the worst in my humble opinion—when the
great wizard Merlin, in all his unbounded wisdom, decided that muggles should
seek answers with their own intelligence. They would have to rely upon their
own cleverness. Slowly, yet surely they did. And the Wizarding world sat back
on its collective posterior and watched the muggles with smiles of proud
benevolence.

 

Oh, were so generous, so kind! Now let us sit here and
marvel at our own magnanimity!

 

Ironically, while we were so busy congratulating ourselves,
the muggles entered successive eras of technological revolutions. Non-magical
innovations spilled from their working minds like a never-ending fount. And the
Wizarding world continued to smile graciously and do nothing!

 

It still does nothing.

 

We have are so buried in our own generous refuse—our very
sedentary existence strangling us—that we cannot move forward. The only way for
us to break free of our ignorantly self-imposed chains is for there to be a
great conflict.

 

Evolution in the natural world is the result of stress and
adaptation. An organism finds itself in a stressful environment and it adapts
to overcome that which proved to be harmful.

 

The greatest muggle wars brought about a wave of advancements.
New weapons were developed. New medical advances helped soldiers on the
battlefield. And when the wars were over, the self-same technology found
practical applications during peace.

 

So I shall tear this world down about us all, and I will force,
through the power of my will alone if needs be, our culture, our very views, to
evolve. My followers, no doubt, obey me out of the dream of power. To them
power is the End. I let them think this. I am, after all, pragmatic in a way
that can only be catalogued as cruel. A tool is there to be used. It is
discarded when no longer useful. So too are my followers employed and
abandoned.

 

Even if I am defeated, though I have no intention of letting
that happen, I will have revolutionized this pathetic world. Whether the ‘other
side’ admits it or not, I am tearing them from their complacent, sedentary
existence. I challenge them to greater feats of the mind.

 

I am the irresistible winds of change. And none shall stand
before me.

 

 

* * *

 

 

“You are to watch him for the two days in which I am gone,”
my Lord tells me coldly. “You will make sure he eats right and attends to all
hygienic matt”
”

 

“Yes, my lord.” I nod my head over and over. I must please
him. Angering the Master is stupid, so very, very stupid. And painful. Yes,
quite, quite painful. A person might think he knows the meaning of pain, but
Master’s displeasure will quickly prove that everything before was heaven and
everything after will never compare—until He is angered again. Fear! Fear His
anger! You ungrateful, sniveling, worthless…Sorry, sorry. Sorry!

 

“You are not to touch him.” A million suns blaze so brightly
in His dark eyes. Those eyes can see deep into me. They twist me into little
pieces of used paper and sprinkle me everywhere.

 

“Yes, my Lord. I understand, my Lord.” I bow and scrape all
to avoid the pain. Mustn’t touch the child. Mrd ird is very, very possessive of
the pretty little boy. Pretty pretty with green-green eyes, Lily’s eyes. In
James’ face. Both their faces watching me from behind his face.

 

And His eyes tunnel down into me and prod about my soft,
squishy insides.

 

Can’t touch the lovely. Touching is bad, bad, bad. Don’t you
dare touch that, you little—! Sorry, sorry. Sorry!

 

My Lord nods and is gone in all his terror. Gone. Magic.
Almost like childhood.

 

And I find myself all alone in His huge mansion. Shadows
breed in the corners and vaulted ceiling of the entry hall. There are many dark
wood doors rooted in the walls. The front doors are like two great bird’s wings
folded for the night. And the others lead to great secrets, or the kitchen.

 

And up the sweeping staircase is the second floor, also
lined with so many doors. And on the second floor, behind a door like all the
others, is a hallway lined with candles. At the end of the hallway are two more
doors facing each other. One is of lighter wood. The other is black.

 

Stupid! Mustn’t think of those doors. One is Master’s, all
dark and crawling like Him. The other is…

 

No! Not allowed. Don’t have permission. He said no. He told
me, quite clearly, Wel Well…he said not to touch…

&;
;

And I’m at the top of the staircase. The shadows are
laughing and dancing and pointing. Look at him! Pathetic looser! Where are your
friends now? Where are—Please don’t! Sorry, sorry! Sorry!

 

Ah!

 

The first door opens without a sound. The tingle of magic
passes over me with recognition. A stranger, an intruder would become so much
dust, if they even made it to the front door. But not me. I’m not a stranger. I
faithfully serve my Lord. I did everything he said. I even—!

 

Down the hallway lined with gently dying candles I creep. He
said not to touch, but He never said I couldn’t look. Just a little peek. A
small glance. I’ll be good. See? See?

 

Oh-so carefully I open the light wood door a crack. A thin
band of light slices through the band. It falls across deep blue carpet and a
bed of pale green sheets. Among the sheets a small figure is curled on one
side. My stomach quivers inside its wet prison. The little pretty pretty is
there. My Lord’s greatest treasure. The child is precious. The child of—!

 

A closer look won’t hurt anyone. He’ll never know. Just a
quick glance at that head of black hair. Across the carpet I go. And he looks
the same: pale, pale skin like the petals of a white rose, lips like a bloody
cupid’s bow.

 

The more I stare, the more I see them. Maybe…Maybe they
didn’t die. I didn’t kill them.

 

And I find my hand on his cheek. How did that get there? I’m
not allowed to touch, but his skin is so soft and…and since I’ve already done
this…

 

“Daddy?” The child’s voice rises up like a lost soul. My
hand stills on his throat. I feel the little pulse beating steadily.

 

Eyes like final death open, her eyes, her eyes!

 

But you died! I saw you! Killed! Dead! No! You can’t be
here. You’re dead. I killed you. Stay dead, dammit!

 

“Stop it, Uncle—!” That pretty little throat convulses under
my hand. Small hands scrabble frantically at my arms.

 

But I can’t kill her again. I can’t. I love her. And him,
too. And they’re both here, watching me out of a face of a child. I can see
them there. James and Lily staring at me with such…horror? Why?

 

No, please don’t look at me like that. Lily/James. I’m so
sorry. I didn’t…I just wanted…Please. Smile for me. James? Lily? Oh, lovely
mine, so sorry. You aren’t really gone are you? I-I just…Please. Smile! Why won’t you smile for me?

 

“Stop!”

 

I’m so sorry. Please, please. I didn’t want to, but
they/you/he/she made me. Ah, lovely lovely. Ah, pretty pretty.

 

A small body wriggles against me. I grip it tighter.
Somewhere a child is screaming, but I ignore it. I have my James/Lily back.
Gently, lovingly I kiss his/her lips. I seek entrance with my tongue, but
he/she is too shy. It doesn’t matter. He/She is back. He/She didn’t die. I
didn’t kill—!

 

Thin cotton rips beneath my hands and smooth young skin
burns me. It tears into me and gnaws greedily upon my heart.

 

James, I didn’t mean for this to happen. Please, listen to
me. I love you.

 

Lily, why don’t you love me?

 

“Please! Uncle Peter!”

 

Such delicious, quivering young flesh. And they’re here in
this boy to redeem me, to love me. And I pay homage to them with kisses of
adoration. I beg forgiveness as I lovingly, tenderly (Not so rough, you idiot!)
stroke the limp length of flesh between straining thighs. Yes, they love me
through the child.

 

But they’re not smiling. Why won’t you smile, still? I love
you! Isn’t that enough!

 

“No! Daddy!”

 

Why won’t you smile?
Please!

 

“Wormtail!”

 

Pain slices through me. It’s my Master. I’m not supposed to
touch! But I did. I did!

 

Such horrible pain. Everything is being shredded inside.
He’s crushed my soft, squishy insides with his will. He’s ripping them out
thh thh the pores of my skin.

 

Ah! Ah! Ah!

 

And He killed them! I killed them!

 

Ah! Ah!

 

Sorry! I’m so sorry! Please!

 

Green eyes stare into mine.

 

Lily…why are you crying?

 

James…why won’t you smile?

 

“You have failed this test, my rat. There will be no
others.”

 

 

* * *

 

 

“Daddy!” Harry screams and then throws himself into my arms.
I gather the bundle of adolescent limbs to my chest and stare down at the
weeping wreck of a man. It appears his madness was further along than I had
anticipated. That disconcerts me. I very rarely misjudge another. Perhaps I
have been afflicted by some sort of passing delirium.

 

“There, there, lovely.”

 

“The bad man…h-he…” The child s ins into a fit of incoherent
sobs interspersed with violent hiccups. Tenderly I stroke his back and murmur
soothing words.

 

“My lord?” Severus stands in the doorway. His dark eyes
flicker between the disobedient rat and myself.

 

“Take him away. He has proven unfit for further use.” My
austere follower nods and strides into the room.

 

“So sorry…Killed you…Lo min mine, so pretty. I didn’t
want…Just…Smile?” A quick silencing spell cuts off the wretched creature’s
babbling. The ensuing quiet feels like a gift from heaven.

 

“I think I shall have to administer his reprimand at a later
date.” The elephant clock on the child’s dresser announces that it is past time
when I should have been at the meeting site. The ones I am negotiating with do
not like to be kept waiting.

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

“You will watch over him now that Peter is indisposed.”

 

“Yes, my lord.”

 

“ And, really, no touching. &nb  

 

* * *

 

 

 

_______

 

Choice is manifestly a voluntary act. But the two terms are
not synonymous, the latter being the wider. Children and the lower animals as
well as men are capable of voluntary action, but not of choice.

~Nicomachean Ethics,
Aristotle

______