𝐅𝐈𝐍𝐄𝐑 𝐓𝐇𝐀𝐍 𝐒𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆

Chapter 7

Loyalty

You're free to leave me

but just don't deceive me

and please believe me

when I say I love you ...

- "El Tango de Roxanne," Moulin Rouge

He looked out the window and saw green.

The sky was glowing, gleaming brilliantly, and where the light reflected off the water, it was the exact color of the Killing Curse. He squinted up at the source of the glow and watched the Dark Mark float among the stars; its edges blurred against the night sky, but the face and snake were so clear that they might have been alive. It was not the first time the Mark had appeared here, but this time, there would be no running. There would be no hesitation. There would be a fight, and there would be victory.

A scream echoed from somewhere, and he narrowed his eyes. The smell of blood and death was thick in the air, and the wind coming through the shattered window carried the promise of more to come. A few figures - unfortunate souls and would-be heroes - littered the ground below him. Their robes whipped in the wind, but their bodies were unmoving. Allies and enemies, warriors and children, lay amicably together.

From there, he couldn't tell the difference between them.

Their blood pooled darkly, but the light from the sky made it seem green, too. Like the eyes of the boy. Nothing moved out on the grounds. Rescuers had stopped coming; whether they were regrouping or forfeiting, he didn't know. They wouldn't ever make it close enough, either way. The forces were too strong. Guarding spells ... fierce Wizards ... giants ... trolls ... Dementors ... the perimeter was an impenetrable wall, and he knew none would come to save their fallen brethren.

Voldemort smiled.

Success was almost his, and his ultimate victory was so close that he could taste its sweetness on his lips. The castle had fallen into his power, and the world outside its walls was fragmented, frightened - and coming undone. Society, after all, is held together by the fragile threads of security and predictability. Without the assurance that sun will rise in the morning and that the world will spin as it always has, panic and chaos prevail. Fear, wielded effectively, could be the most powerful weapon.

He knew this.

But he also knew that if the Mudbloods and their protectors had hope, they would fight. He could kill a thousand more Muggles, but so long as the Order had its little icon of hope, they would never submit. Certainly he could just kill them all. Their impure blood would flow through the fields like a river, and their hollow eyes would stare up at the Dark Mark in the sky just as the bodies on the grounds did now. But having the remaining members of Dumbledore's cursed Order of the Phoenix give in to his side and become his servants - that would be the truest victory.

Voldemort gazed at the horizon, watching the shadows of the Dementors swirl restlessly along the treetops. Those for whom he waited would come soon, and the final phases would commence. First, he would continue the chaos; then, he would drive home the stake that would end the war.

The thought made his skin warm with excitement, and he pictured it all in his mind: the news would travel in hushed voices among the hidden refugees. Where they hid underground, they would speak of the Great Act and gasp, and weep, and realize that any hope to which they had clung was in vain. Their desperation would melt to resignation. Their supplies and willpower would run low, and they would emerge into the new world. A world that honored blood purity and held in highest esteem the heritage of Wizardkind ... a world that protected Wizards from the threat of Muggles and did not allow its children to be tainted with dirty blood ... a world under his rule and within his power.