Tom wanted greatness. He was different from the rest only in that he knew he could achieve it. In th
Tom wanted greatness. He was different from the rest only in that he knew he could achieve it. In that he was right. It became a duty, tugging at him and tugging at him, his heart strained with the ache of it and the grinding, lurching sickness that was his certainty: nothing was great any more. The days of greatness had passed. Not since Slytherin himself, not since the founders had there been true greatness. Greatness is not politic in a world such as ours. Better mediocrity. Greatness, true greatness, is terrifying. And the children in the corridors knew, and even the teachers knew: not in their minds but in the meat of them. Their bodies shied away from him like parchment cast into the heart of a fire: curling, darkened, in on itself. But still they refused to see, still. Such a charming boy. Such a charming boy, and such a future ahead of him. - from The Rhetoric of Ruin -- source link
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