I do not own Voldemort (and all his friends and enemies) or Coldplay's lovely "Viva La Vida" lyrics. Wait, friends? Chyeah right.
Long Live the King
I used to rule the world
Seas would rise when I gave the word
One thing that Lord Voldemort never did was lament. To cry was to show weakness and he was completely and utterly above that. Someone like him, who deserved to rule the world, did not degrade himself to such foolish actions. He was the best, the strongest, and the most accomplished.
No one could out do him, not even Dumbledore. The old fool may have been brilliant, but had been blinded by his irrational theories of love and all its power.
Love, Tom, he could hear the words from ages ago, before Voldemort had even formed, Is the greatest weapon. As the Transfiguration teacher at the time, Dumbledore had given him what he considered a "life lesson". Lord Voldemort curled his thin lip in disgust. Even now, generations later, the words were poison.
Now in the morning I sweep alone
Sweep the streets I used to own
I used to roll the dice
Feel the fear in my enemy's eyes
However, as he watched his most loyal servant crash to the floor, Voldemort knew emotional pain. It was a feeling he had not felt in such a long time, that he did not quite recognize the significance. Bellatrix! his mind called in one, swift thought as a scream ripped from his throat.
As he prepared to off the mother of the Weasley's, the short plump woman spluttering in her slaying, he raised his wand. The curse could not fly from his lips, as a shield appeared between them, blocking him from another, more thoughtful murder.
Listen as the crowd would sing:
"Now the old king is dead! Long live the king!"
One minute I held the key
Next the walls were closed on me
Potter revealed himself, and he mentally cursed himself for assuming Narcissa Malfoy's declaration that the boy was dead had been accurate. He must have been alive the entire time, playing dead like an opossum, and the female Malfoy was too wrapped up in discovering if her precious son was alive. Once he finished Potter, she would be the first to die at his hand as king.
They circled around the hall together, almost mirroring each other's steps and actions. Again, his lip curled is revulsion at the ridiculousness of what Potter was telling him.
Potter thinking he would be the one to survive? Absurd.
The boy thinking he knew more than the Lord Voldemort did? Farcical.
Dumbledore, a better man than he was? Preposterous.
Draco Malfoy, master of the wand in his hand? Outlandish.
Nevertheless, he believed it. Draco Malfoy would be the first to die after Potter, then his mother. For good measure, his father too.
The sun broke the sky. His energy, wound up from the boy's words, finally came to climax, and the most unforgivable of curses frantically came from his thin, snake lips.
And I discovered that my castles stand
Upon pillars of salt, pillars of sand
The Elder Wand was ripped from his fingers, the curse still attached to the end, as it flew across the space between them and into the outstretched hand of Harry Potter. The spell changed its deathly course, and at last, Lord Voldemort was defeated.