A/N Second in a series of fics about the last battle. Don't own the HP characters.
Truly, I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise. -Luke, 23:43
They stood there, in the cold, waiting for their master to appear. That was, perhaps, the hero's tragic flaw. Hubris, as always. He was so proud, so arrogant, he failed to see the error in his ideas. Although, his followers supposed, that power could do that to you. Absolute power corrupts absolutely, and all that. He'd gone mad from power.
Perhaps, mayhap, it was true. He didn't think so, but then, they say that you're only insane if you swear you're not. That a sane person questions their sanity, one who's insane does not. He appeared, as usual, in a grandiose fashion. He enjoyed it though, no matter what his followers thought. All the world was a stage, and he was an actor on that stage, trying to upstage his fellow men.
He had the charisma to act, and it was what had drawn him so many followers. It was easy to put spin on his ideas, it was easy to convince people that he was right, even when he was wrong, it was easy to tell them stories of apocalypse and doom, or alternatively power and glory. He knew how to work people, he knew how to manipulate people. And that was all he needed to gain a following. The greatest leaders in the world are the greatest manipulators, after all.
He looked over the crowd, over his army. They would march onto battle, and they would win. It was their only option. To lose was to die, and he refused to die. He spent his life running from death, he wasn't going to give up the run now. He was a marathon runner in the twenty-fifth mile, he had this last stretch, to win or to lose. And he wouldn't loose.
He cleared his throat, watching as all the small fractures of conversations halted. He drew himself up, tall, elegant. He may not have come from fine breeding, but he had risen above. As Jay Gatsby rose from James Gatz, Lord Voldemort rose from Tom Riddle. Thanks to hours of perfecting himself. And he wasn't about to give all that away. Not because of some stupid boy.
"My loyal followers-" To call them servants would demean them. It was fine when he was angry with them, but he needed them to support him. "Today, we stand, on the verge of greatness. We are inches away from victory. Our idea of a new era, with a new world order, without any sort of corruption lingering in our word, in just on the horizon. All we need to do is make it through today. And I ask you, who stands with me?" He smiled at the rousing cry he got.
He knew how to speak. It was something vital to know how to do. You got nowhere as a leader without being able to make rallying speeches. All the great leaders in history had the ability to excite a crowd. The best way to get things done was through a passionate mob. "My followers, by standing by my side you assure yourself a place in the sun, of everlasting glory. Those fools out there, they know not what is to become of the world. They know not of the greatness that will come soon, very soon now. Who is ready for glory?"
Another rousing cheer. There were the dissidents, he could see them, but he ignored them. That they were here that was proof enough that they'd at least half-heartedly fight for him. Half-heartedly for him, was better than against him, and he would take what he would get. He knew the odds, but he blocked them out. He'd rather not think of that. He'd rather not consider that there was the chance at loosing. "My loyal followers, my Death Eaters, truly I say to you, today you will be with me in paradise!"