Kestrels Seeker.

Write about a character(s) that seems conniving and manipulative but aren't bad people OR write about a character(s) that manipulate others for their own agendas, whether good or bad.

WC: 1031

"Radicalization." Tom Riddle's expression was not quite that of a smirk, but it was triumphant nonetheless. He exuded confidence and power, as if he knew that he could lead his followers to a better future. He turned to the blackboard behind him.

"As you're my core group of disciples," he started, "I think you all should be privy to some of the techniques we'll be using to persuade those young Wizards who might be on the line about joining our cause but are afraid for some reason or another.

"It's normal to be afraid when you're joining a group that calls for change. It's normal to question their motives and practices." Here, Tom whirled around and gave his audience a look charged with determination and danger. "But this is the only way. It's imperative that we act quickly, because as we move farther and farther from our vision, it becomes harder and harder to actualize it. Like a scale that tips farther down on one side, it takes more weight to bring it back to even. And if too much is put on the scale, it breaks. Justice fails. You all are the shining knights, if you will, who will right this scale. You deserve better. The world deserves better."

His followers stared at him with wide eyes filled with wonder and adoration. He had them trapped.

"We need to save our culture; it's dying too fast. Every day, a Pureblood marries someone unlike ourselves. What could Mudbloods understand about the Wizarding World? They spent their most formative years outside our culture. They don't understand our history, our families, our heritage. Every day, our numbers shrink, and that's a tragedy. Our history is rich and sophisticated. We built mansions, castles, governments. We invented new medicine, new music, new ways of life. We were civilized when the rest of the world was still in the Dark Ages. Our music, our literature, our language… all of it will die."

He saw their eyes harden. He felt their souls get darker and more twisted with each word he said. All it had taken was finding some young men and women who felt neglected by society, who felt threatened by their dwindling power when their families had enjoyed a tradition of privilege. All it had taken was finding them and then giving them the love they felt they deserved.

See, even Dark Lords could be loving.

In fact, Tom Riddle would argue that they gave love to the people who would appreciate it the most.

Tom Riddle paced in his quarters as he muttered to himself. He was sure he was unsightly, not at all the dark wizard who would lead his followers to a better future. His hair was ruffled and his clothes rumpled, and he had an unbecoming look of frustration on his face.

He gave rousing speech after rousing speech, and his followers seemed to believe in his ideas. Purity, tradition, culture. But they stopped at killing. They wouldn't do what he needed to rule through fear. Tom Riddle grasped at his hair in frustration.

Still, he knew that he had othered the Muggles and made his followers confident in their own fears of the ever-changing world. That unwillingness to adapt and flow with the river of time was the seedling. He knew that was how governments fell to fascist regimes. He had seen it happen before, or at least read about it second-hand through history books.

The world was on the brink of another failing. Tom Riddle suddenly stopped in his tracks. He knew he didn't need to do much. The roots were already growing.

"Here." Tom Riddle distributed patches among his followers, who had not grown much since the start of the year but had not shrunk either. He consoled himself with the thought that he had a limited pool to work with at such a small school. Once he graduated, he'd have more time and more outreach. "This is your patch that identifies people like us. If anybody asks, it's a Slytherin pride symbol, but we'll know what it means."

Just by speaking in circles, he knew his followers would catch on. The administration of the school wouldn't like him speaking out against them, so they had to be secret.

Radicalization, he thought, was a simple thing. After all, he was only a teenager, and he'd already built a loving community for it.

He got what he needed soon after he started looking for it. Tom Riddle had been looking for a catalyst, and he found it in Rubeus Hagrid.

"You did it, didn't you?" he stared at Rubeus with a cocked head and a sympathetic smile. "It's okay. You can tell me. I won't tell anybody else."

Rubeus stared at his giant, outstretched hands as he openly wept. "I swear I didn't do it. I never meant for someone to die."

"I know you didn't mean any harm," Tom said, his voice sickly sweet, "but sometimes people who mean well do bad things, and that doesn't mean their actions should be excused."

"I didn't do it!" he cried.

Pitiful creature. Tom easily concealed a sneer. Giants were never meant to breed among Wizards. It was unnatural, unseemly, and immoral. But it was also the perfect symbol that Tom had been looking for, a symbol of how integration could be grotesque and mistaken. Rubeus was an example of what happened when you let them in. Death happened. Tom loved Rubeus for that. See, Tom loved all.

"I'm sorry, Hagrid," he said in the same sympathetic tone. "We have to make sure you don't hurt anyone else."

Then, he walked away, leaving Rubeus broken in his wake.

He was already forming in his head what he would tell his followers in his next rousing lecture. They thought they were learning of a vision for the future. They thought he was giving them tools to build a better world for them and their families. Only he knew that he was groping around in their souls for the bitter darkness and hate and then wringing their hearts until it served him, and only him. With that thought, for once, Tom genuinely smiled.