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Jun. 23rd, 2006 10:43 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
wand_waversOne of the few remaining pieces of furniture in the manor's master suite is a grand old oak desk, and it is at this desk where the Dark Lord is busily engaged in putting the final touches to what even he would have to consider his master stroke.
Inch after inch of a parchment scroll, covered in meticulous and detailed instructions. With such explicit elaboration, even the most simple-minded of his followers will be able to carry out this mission. The best and the brightest of them would also benefit from further clarification, for they will have much to do this coming Sunday. There is no room for failure here, no room for any less than complete dedication.
He cannot contain a small chuckle of pure delight at the sight of his plan laid out so precisely. On Saturday evening, wizarding Britain would be sleeping peacefully. On Sunday morning, all of Britain would wake to the dawning of a new day.
His day.
And by Sunday next, he would be the undisputed lord and master of the wizarding population of the British Isles -- or rather, what would be left of them.
Unless...
The tip of his quill jolts on the paper, and a dark blot begins to spreads across the parchment.
With a scowl, he casts the necessary cleansing spell. A silly thought; his Horcruxes are safe. All five of them, all precisely where they had been concealed years before. And he would know if anyone had tampered with them.
Though you did not know when the diary was destroyed.
His scowl deepens further. All things considered, when Potter had committed that act of wanton destruction, he had not exactly been in a state to be aware of anything.
The thought was nonetheless unsettling, much as he loathed to admit it. There was time to follow through on the Horcruxes, time enough if he so desired. But until then, there were more pressing matters to consider -- matters which would commence on Sunday. All of pieces had to be put into place: pawns to arrange, opening moves to consider, an endgame to design.
Nothing, therefore, to worry about. Nothing to fear.
And everything to be won.
Inch after inch of a parchment scroll, covered in meticulous and detailed instructions. With such explicit elaboration, even the most simple-minded of his followers will be able to carry out this mission. The best and the brightest of them would also benefit from further clarification, for they will have much to do this coming Sunday. There is no room for failure here, no room for any less than complete dedication.
He cannot contain a small chuckle of pure delight at the sight of his plan laid out so precisely. On Saturday evening, wizarding Britain would be sleeping peacefully. On Sunday morning, all of Britain would wake to the dawning of a new day.
His day.
And by Sunday next, he would be the undisputed lord and master of the wizarding population of the British Isles -- or rather, what would be left of them.
Unless...
The tip of his quill jolts on the paper, and a dark blot begins to spreads across the parchment.
With a scowl, he casts the necessary cleansing spell. A silly thought; his Horcruxes are safe. All five of them, all precisely where they had been concealed years before. And he would know if anyone had tampered with them.
Though you did not know when the diary was destroyed.
His scowl deepens further. All things considered, when Potter had committed that act of wanton destruction, he had not exactly been in a state to be aware of anything.
The thought was nonetheless unsettling, much as he loathed to admit it. There was time to follow through on the Horcruxes, time enough if he so desired. But until then, there were more pressing matters to consider -- matters which would commence on Sunday. All of pieces had to be put into place: pawns to arrange, opening moves to consider, an endgame to design.
Nothing, therefore, to worry about. Nothing to fear.
And everything to be won.
