Chapter 1420: Voldemort's Realization
Chapter 1420: Voldemort's Realization
In a village engulfed by a blizzard, lights still shone within the cozy homes as their occupants drew thick curtains to keep out the cold. Unfazed by the howling winds and swirling snow outside, the villagers huddled by their electric heaters, accustomed to spending snowy days indoors, curled up by the fireplace, and watching television.
Brr, it's freezing! For some unknown reason, a shiver ran through the family watching television as if an icy chill had crept into the room. At the urging of his family, the man of the house reluctantly left the warmth of his blanket to check on the heater.
"It's fine," he said, holding his hand near the heater to test it. He then turned toward the window, his brow furrowed in confusion.
Could there be a draft coming from the window?
He walked over and pulled aside the heavy curtains, peering outside. His eyes widened in surprise as he saw the glass frosting over before his very eyes.
What in the world is going on?
Before the villagers could make sense of the situation, a commotion erupted in the usually quiet hamlet. Something terrible was unfolding amidst the snow-covered streets.
A bone-chilling cold gripped their hearts, and people began to feel weak and dizzy.
Screams of terror pierced the air.
Outside the village, amidst the swirling snow, a cloaked figure stood—Voldemort, his eyes coldly observing the chaos unfolding in the village.
The Death Eaters did not engage directly but instead unleashed Dementors to feed on the Muggles' souls. It was a mad decision, yet Voldemort was content to let the Dementors run rampant.
Soon, the village fell silent again, and the Dementors, having sucked the souls from the villagers, began to congregate. They prepared to split and reproduce, creating more of their kind.
"Have the members of the Order of the Phoenix shown themselves?" Voldemort asked Yaxley, his faithful follower.
"No, Master," Yaxley replied, a hint of disappointment in his voice. But he quickly added, "They are too cowardly to face you, Master. They dare not come."
"Cowardice?" Voldemort repeated softly.
To be honest, he didn't believe that the Order would cower in fear, especially not that Muggle-born, Albert Anderson. However, they were clearly thinking for themselves and wouldn't be foolish enough to walk into his carefully laid trap.
This was not a good sign, but it was also expected.
Yes, if he were in their position, he wouldn't make such a stupid move either.
"Master," Yaxley said, a hint of anxiety in his voice.
"Those self-proclaimed champions of justice? We'll smoke them out," Voldemort said, his eyes cold as he watched the Death Eaters and Dark Wizards turning the soulless bodies into Inferi. "After all, there's no shortage of Muggle corpses."
"Yes, Master."
Severus Snape, who had been silent until now, finally spoke up after a moment of hesitation. "I doubt this will lure Anderson out. He doesn't care about Muggle casualties." Snape couldn't believe Voldemort was resorting to such a blunt tactic.
"Oh, Severus, it seems you have a better idea," Voldemort said, turning to his right-hand man, his eyes glinting with anticipation.
"Master, according to what I know, there's a belief within the Order of the Phoenix that Harry Potter is destined to face you in a final battle," Snape said, his head lowered as he spoke. "I believe they are preparing for that eventuality."
When Voldemort remained silent, Snape continued after a brief pause, "I think we should focus on improving our combat capabilities. As it stands, they are no match for trained wizards."
This was an offensive statement, but it was also a harsh truth. The Death Eaters' abilities had deteriorated to the point where they were inferior to newly graduated wizards.
"That damned prophecy again?" Voldemort's voice was laced with bitterness. He had never forgotten why he had ended up in this state.
The mere thought of it made his scarlet eyes even more piercing, and the surrounding Death Eaters lowered their heads, afraid to meet his gaze.
A final battle?
With Harry Potter?
Voldemort scoffed at the idea that Potter had any right to face him.
The famous "Chosen One" had long since lost his appeal to Voldemort and was never considered a true adversary.
Harry Potter was not worthy.
Especially after learning about the wand's true allegiance, Voldemort's interest in the so-called savior had waned.
Perhaps, since that mudblood had saved him, Harry Potter had gained a bit of an edge, and there always seemed to be some reason why he couldn't be killed. But that was of little consequence to Voldemort now.
Ultimately, killing Harry Potter didn't necessarily require his personal involvement, and that so-called savior was nothing more than Dumbledore's puppet anyway.
The only one who truly mattered to Voldemort now was Albert Anderson, that damn Muggle-born! Yes, Voldemort had recognized the threat posed by Anderson early on, but he had still underestimated him.
Even after repeatedly raising the alert level for Anderson and treating him as an even greater threat than Dumbledore, Voldemort realized he had gravely underestimated the severity of the situation.
He suspected… no, there was no doubt that damned prophecy, The prediction that either he or Harry Potter would die in their final battle, was undoubtedly Anderson's doing. The Muggle-born was biding his time, preparing to strike and take them all down in one fell swoop.
It was a ludicrous yet insanely daring plan.
If it had been shortly after his resurrection, Voldemort wouldn't have given this ridiculous plan a second thought. But as he witnessed the constant losses among his Death Eaters and acknowledged that the newly recruited members were indeed as inept as Snape had claimed, Voldemort finally grasped the extent of Anderson's scheming.
He even saw Dumbledore's hand in this, that meddlesome old fool setting him up against an even more formidable opponent.
There was no denying that Anderson was more unhinged and brazen than Dumbledore.
"A final battle, then?"
Voldemort knew this couldn't be avoided, even if he didn't want it. That Muggle-born would find a way to force his hand and ensure their confrontation.
While Voldemort didn't believe he would lose, he also wouldn't be unprepared now that he was aware of Anderson's machinations. He refused to be led by the nose.
"Continue to flush them out," Voldemort ordered Yaxley.
By any means necessary, those damned rats must be crushed.
"And Severus, don't disappoint me with those new recruits."
"Yes, Master."
Yaxley and Snape exchanged a glance, both surprised that Voldemort had agreed so readily.
This wasn't like him at all! (End of Chapter)
Chapter end
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