Voldemort Tweets to Live On
It all ends Friday.
For months, there has been a countdown to July 15—the day the story gets "wrapped up together nicely." I have been around long enough to know that this is not the case. Trust me, I know about things being wrapped up—I used to live in a guy’s turban. These movies, the feelings, the ideas behind them will never end. You can’t Avada Kedavra words or thoughts, and they could never finish "nicely," not when I’m involved.
I’m the villain, after all. It’s an interesting phenomenon, being the bad guy. If you think about it, the bad guy is always the hero in his own story. Here I am, ridding the world of the kind of people who are perpetually at Walmart and who fangirl Gilderoy Lockhart, and suddenly I’m “evil.” Refusing to chance my beliefs because popular opinion does not agree is praised when the person doing it isn’t also attempting to enslave the nonmagical race. Alas, that’s a different story (one that should probably be told: *hint, hint,* J. K. Rowling). The point is that the Dark Lord does what he wants. If you don’t like my condescending attitude, bite me. Not literally, you vampire-obsessed weirdos. I stand as an example that someone can make a name (even if you cannot say it aloud) by refusing to conform, and I’m proud to say that the only thing that sparkles on me is the Dark Mark I send up after I murder.
It’s strange to look back on my years of terror now that the final chapter of my brilliant cinematic journey is culminating. Seeing the final film made me realize a lot of things: It is rare to find someone who refuses to yield to common ways of thought; love is gross; is that really what my nose looks like?; I really should have spent less time monologuing and more time killing Potter; and son-of-a-basilisk, am I good-looking. Taking a time-turner journey through my past films, I realize that people are quick to judge, but you can’t have heroes without villains, and frankly, being bad is way more fun. I’ve thoroughly enjoyed this “Potter journey,” even if it has been a thoroughly biased retelling. I mean, really, people? You still root for the whiney kid with the scar? I killed his parents years ago. Time to move on.
Speaking of moving on, people wonder how the end will affect me. They want to know how I, the Dark Lord, feel about my magical journey approaching the light at the end of the tunnel. These people are fools; nobody questions the Dark Lord and lives to tell. However, I will share that this is not the Dark Lord’s end as so many of you muggles seem content to believe. Magic never ends, and I am magic. Just ask any of the ladies who have been privileged enough to enter my "chamber of secrets" and "meet my basilisk." But in all seriousness (not Siriusness; that joke is more painful than the cruciatus curse), magic is not something that ends because a Hollywood production finally premieres after years. I am not a collection of CGI effects that leave my nose looking incredibly questionable. I am more than that. I am a legend, an idea, and a way of thinking. I am magic. The fact of the matter is that people cannot forget you when you exist in their thoughts (or a diary, ring, snake, cup … you get the point).
So many people nowadays focus only on getting themselves known. They want everyone to know their name. They seek others' love and approval to justify their own self-image and give them the approval they feel they need in life. I wanted the opposite. I wanted people to not say my name. Instead of loving me, I wanted you to fear me. Think about it—you never forget those who wronged you in the past, while those you had cordial interactions with flit out of your mind faster than a Snitch in a Quidditch match.
So fear not, fans of evil. You can “end” a series, but the story itself shall live on. You cannot forget something that is a part of you, and by reading these books, by getting engaged with them the way you did, you really put a bit of your soul into them … into me. Meaning that I get to live on forever. Suckers.