1. Ask me three questions you want to know the truth to.
2. I will pick two of them to answer
3. One I will tell the truth about
4. One I will lie about (the last you will have to try and answer for me).
5. Post this in your journal so others can ask you.

Title: Beautiful
Rating: G
Fandom:Harry Potter
Movie/Quote: Vertigo
"If I let you change me, will that do it? If I do what you tell me, will you love me?"
- "Yes. Yes."
"All right. All right then, I'll do it. I don't care anymore about me."
Summary: He was a blank slate. He could be a perfect soldier, a perfect monster, or a perfect prince. He just needed the right inspiration .
Disclaimer: “We do not claim the portrait presented here to be a true one. Only that it comes close.” (Don’t sue, JK Rowlings)
Author's Note:Cross-posted to his IJ journal. Apologies.

Lord Voldemort makes it his business to know those would-be servants, to break them down and study what’s inside. Voldemort is not a fool, not given to idleness and despite what some would say; he chooses those who would be his with great care. He cannot afford to do otherwise. He seeks to make a kingdom, to do so, he needs kings. It is a simple enough equation.

And most that he would want to bow find him; those who smell the blood he can offer come creeping out of the woodwork like insects, or tumble towards him like yellowed newspapers carried on the wind. The others, those who pick up more so on the ideology, who fancy themselves defenders of blood and life are wooed by the words he speaks when he turns away from them oh so thoughtfully and studies the way flames dance in the hearths. He’ll have need for both kinds too, for in his Kingdom there are many tasks and indeed, most come easily enough because the rich are like the poor in the ways that matter and they all want something Voldemort alone can give them.

But there are others. Those he wants. No. He has more then some tawdry desire for them. He needs them, to prove who he is, what he is; they are the ones he has to work for.

Those are the ones he woos. He doesn’t mind, either. Not at all. It’s a beautiful thing, watching someone bow and it is even better if they don’t realize they’ve done it.

( Close your eyes and they'll all be gone. They can scream and shout that they've been sold out but it paid for the cloud that we're dancing on so shine on, just shine on- With your smile just as bright as the sun cause they're all just slaves to the Gods they've made but you and I just shone… )

I do not have friends. It’s a commodity, and I have weakness I cannot afford to have. Of there are guests; of course, Malfoy Manor is always filled with callers. I have people I sit on charity and advisory boards with; there’s eleven Governors outside of me who on the School’s council. I’m a Trustee at St. Mungo’s. There are men in government, powerful men whose effigies will probably grace bank notes (Muggle and Magicial) one day, and statues. Their names, like mine, grace hospitals and libraries. They kiss babies, and their wives for your cameras and visits their mothers every third Sunday of May. I have known seven Ministers of Magic, two Muggle Prime Ministers and even the Pope.

I have hunting partners, and co-chairs, and business partners and House-mates from school. I have equals and devotees and even a mentor or two.

There is another group I know of. Those I ran with in my youth, when everything was young with us and new and a small bit frightened; when all the known world was composed of just raw emotion that tried to be harnessed by reason or obligation: be it to name, or bloodline, or status quo. When we were dreamers, and everything was worth the price we paid.

They were creatures and children. We wore masks, and cloaks and threw up imaginary monsters and people trembled because this was new and frightening. We were as old and bigger then the problems we were born into, those things we would die from. We became real because we were fairytales: Baba Yagas, and Mr. Fox and ageless. Deathless.

And when I was young, they were my family- more my family then the man who’s name I took, the child who I gave it to, and the wife who knew this all.

And they, my brothers, my sisters, and my comrades; they are not for you to know.


Written for yes_peacocks and posted here because of the icon. Yep. I'm pickier then Moony mun.

( A meme. A what? A meme. Oh a meme )

Name a character that you know I write or have written, and I'll tell you:

a. What initially prompted me to like the character enough to write about him/her.
b. One of his/her best traits.
c. One of his/her worst traits.
d. How easy/difficult I find it to write the character.
e. The story/thread/chapter/post/paragraph/tag/phrase where I feel that I truly captured the character.

You most resemble Winona Ryder You are good looking and clever. You are also an active thrill seeker. You have a fairly acceptable personality, except for that pesky theft problem. Take this quiz at QuizGalaxy.com

Let me know if you want me to interview you as a mun of your pups or if you want it to be an ic interview. Thanks.

I'll be editing this post with my answers as I tag in because this meme always spreads like wildfire.

As with Sev, older and younger Lucius can be found here.

Request drabbles. Something stupid, silly, sappy, whatever. Angst and fighting if you wish. The only slight is...he's lil!Lucius...