Achieving victory was simple, in Lord Voldemort's eyes.
All he had to do was gain control of the most powerful wand in the world, and it would give him a measure of satisfaction to take it from the man who had been a mortal enemy.
Had been. Now that all that remained of Dumbledore's legacy was a moldering body and a group of weaklings who were still loyal to him. Voldemort had been informed of resistance within the walls of Dumbledore's old home, but that mattered little to him. All weaklings could be crushed underfoot. All rebellions would be quelled the moment he took control. His power would be absolute. He would dissolve the Ministry of Magic, or better yet, have it be his puppet show, with him the puppetmaster.
Taking the wand was almost too easy. The fools hadn't protected his body with more than a simple marble encasing. All he had to do was remove the lid and take out the wand.
Sheer power raced up his arm, spreading to the rest of his body, and he laughed. Laughed at the ones who would die at his hands. Laughed at Dumbledore for trusting his body with idiots. Laughed at Harry Potter's inevitable defeat.
Victory was nearing. Lord Voldemort's reign would begin. And no one would be able to stop him.
He had hundreds, perhaps thousands, at his command. First, he would take his army and destroy that wretched school and everyone within its walls. He would ensure the safety of his remaining Horcruxes while his army annihilated the school and then when Harry Potter faced him, he would die.
His fingers flexed, imagining how he would kill the insolent boy. Swiftly, like his parents? Or torturing his friends until he begged for mercy? For someone who was portrayed as an invincible hero, he had a lot of weaknesses.
Invincible — hardly. The boy had merely escaped him based on sheer coincidence or the stupidity of his Death Eaters. Mostly the former.
But soon, he would have no one to protect him. It would be him alone the stage of death.
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Capture the Flag - 1. Achieve
