World Cup final

Fred was flying at full speed, weaving between the many people gathered around them, ignoring the outraged complaints that his dangerous conduct caused. He knew it was dangerous to go so fast amidst so many people, but at that moment, Fred and George could only continue, letting out a scream to celebrate their freedom. After their escapade at the ministry, their parents hadn't said anything. They thought they would get the punishment of the century, but all they got was an indescribable look from their mother and the order to stay locked in their room until further notice. That hurt them more than the worst of screams.

And unlike Ginny, they didn't even have the certainty of having been right to ease their guilt. In the end, their parents might not have been wrong. Their sister had put herself in danger for nothing. People barely remembered her testimony (at the same time, she hadn't had time to say much). On the other hand, they were convinced that Lucius Malfoy would remember. Since the incident, on the family clock, Ginny's hand was permanently pointing to 'in mortal danger'.

Subsequently, Fred and George had talked about it a lot. Or rather, they had exchanged long meaningful looks. It had been a long time since the twins needed words to understand each other. Not on really important matters. Fred couldn't understand how people managed to live without the bond that united him to George. They must feel so lonely.

During the days that followed, they tried to talk to their parents about it. They didn't really know what they were hoping for. That they would forgive them or yell at them. Anything rather than the awkward silence that had fallen over the Burrow. Their father was held up at the ministry for longer and longer (and after the mass escape from Azkaban, they hardly saw him at all). As for their mother, she was absent more and more regularly, ordering them to stay at the Burrow.

As surprising as it may seem at first, the twins respected his prohibitions. As much out of a desire to be forgiven as to spare their mother after the Death Eaters who had killed their uncles escaped from Azkaban. But when their parents announced that they would not be going to the Quidditch World Cup after all, because it was too dangerous, they exploded. Within these four walls, they were suffocating. Finally, on the day of the final, their parents disappeared, leaving them with Aunt Muriel. It didn't take them long to escape the care of their cantankerous relative. Ginny begged them to take her with them, but after what had happened at the Ministry, they had vowed not to put her in danger again without their parents' consent.

They left then, under the well-deserved insults of their little sister, to live the best moment of their lives. And the most lucrative. He fully intended to take advantage.The opportunity to relieve some high-ranking ministry official of enough Galleons to launch their store. They knew they couldn't rely on their parents' more than limited means to achieve their dream (and working for the ministry as their parents wanted was out of the question). After several hours of a flight that did them a world of good (they missed freedom), they were blocked by a magical dome several kilometers from the tent field surrounding the stadium with a crowd of wizards too poor or not influential enough to get tickets. Despite everything, they refused to let the circumstances affect their good mood and pooled their meager savings to buy, at a price far too high, some Omnioculars and a bottle of butterbeer from a reseller who forgot to ask if they were of legal drinking age.

Then George challenged him to a race. It was a gross mistake he would make him regret. He then cut through the crowd with all the speed his old Comet 90 allowed. When his brother finally gave up and a girl who had followed his aerial exploits approached him, he felt like the master of the world. His brother walked away, understanding that sometimes even twins needed privacy, and he followed the match pressed against the girl, regularly exchanging the binoculars. Fred began to wonder if she hadn't approached him just to take advantage of his binoculars, but a single glance at her beautiful face convinced him that it didn't matter much. He turned his attention back to the match that was starting, swallowing another sip of butterbeer, which he suddenly spat out. Worried, his new friend asked him what was happening. He didn't bother to answer her and went in search of his brother. Despite the crowd, he soon spotted George waving at him.

So Don Juan, she finally understood that I am the more handsome of the two.

Mom and Dad are here.

What are you talking about?

Look under the third step on the left. More to the right. There, you see. He indicated while guiding his brother's gaze.

Oh the bastards. They came without us.

Are you stupid or what? Do you really think they would make a plan like that for us?

But before George could answer, a black cloud surrounded the stadium and blocked their view.

oOoOoOo

And the chaser is about to shoot, oh! But what a shame, that Bludger didn't miss him! But he gets up with courage, but what's happening? Yes, Victor Krum has spotted the Golden Snitch and it's not a bluff this time. He's going to catch it and ahhhhhhhhhhhhhh!

A cry of immense pain echoed through the microphone. The commentator had stopped commenting on the match and was now screaming as if his jaw would come off. The players continued to play, but the spectators in the stands had stopped following the match. An explosion then rang out above the stadium and all the magical lights went out.

A sense of panic began to take hold of the stands. At that moment, Scrimgeour decided it was time to put an end to this masquerade. He ordered the referee to suspend the match. He would probably get fired by Fudge, but the only thing that had allowed him to survive the first war was his instinct, and now it was screaming at him that something very serious was brewing.

He was not disappointed, for even before the referee could blow the final whistle, a new explosion tore the stadium's barriers in two with a rattling noise that echoed for a kilometer around and rendered all the occupants of the place deaf for the next few minutes. A black cloud then descended into the stadium (injuring the players as it passed). Once the cloud dissipated, the Dark Mark shone in the sky. In the center of the field, there was now a group of Death Eaters with in front of them, a Harry Potter with red eyes and a chilling gaze who declared:

Rejoice, for Voldemort gives you the great honor of witnessing a historic event. Today marks the beginning of my reign. Bow down and beg for my mercy and perhaps I will grant you one more day to live.

What? What is he saying? I can't hear anything because of this explosion. Who is this runt? Pronounced the Bulgarian referee as he landed to see what was happening.

Don't forget to remind me to spray it when everything is finished. Voldemort asked the Death Eater to his right.

It's over, Tom. Declared Dumbledore's calm voice.

A few seconds later, about fifty members of the Order of the Phoenix appeared in the middle of the field, spreading out all around him. They were quickly joined by a good hundred Aurors led by Scrimgeour. This should have been impossible. According to his orders, after he used the power of the relics to destroy the stadium's protections, he and his Death Eaters had created anti-apparition barriers entirely under his control. And Dumbledore could not have guessed that he would attack the most protected and scrutinized place in the world with his meager forces. But he was not surprised. Voldemort had long suspected the presence of a traitor in his ranks (at the same time he had never trusted anyone, not even his most loyal Death Eater).

Then his blood froze as he felt that terrifying magic unfold around him. An Avada had just struck the invisibility cloak that he now wore permanently. As the legend had it, it was capableTo stop death in person. He was just in time, surrounded by a powerful shield of that inhuman magic to stop the dozen spells that rained down on him just after Lucius aimed at his back (as if it was a prearranged signal). He turned on himself and found that he was surrounded by enemies. The Death Eaters who had not betrayed him had been executed by surprise by a group of traitors visibly led by the one he considered his right-hand man.

He hid his surprise with a mask of indifference, but could not suppress his anger when an old man in a purple robe stepped forward in front of the fighters. Why did he always have to persist in taking everything from him? First his first (and only) friends and now his Death Eaters.

Ah, my dear professor. You have come to witness my triumph. How fortunate that you were able to live long enough to see this. But unfortunately, your life ends tonight.

Dumbledore paid him no attention and calmly advanced, unleashing his power. The air crackled with magic. The panic that had seized the stands stopped, and all turned their gaze back to the center of the field. Voldemort released his magic in turn, and the sky darkened. With a dull thud, his magic collided with Dumbledore's, forming an invisible line that divided the field in two.

To be honest, Tom, I didn't think you would be powerful enough to get past the stadium's protections. It's very impressive. But it was foolish to come here, Tom. The whole world has its eyes on you. You who had made so much effort to hide your return. Declared Dumbledore as if he were talking about a particularly ambitious school project of his former student.

I was tired of being ignored. From now on, the world will know that there is no place to escape me. No magic powerful enough to stop me.

Tom, you won't be able to face all of us. This is your last chance to prove that we were wrong about you. That I was wrong. Release Harry and I promise you …

But Voldemort interrupted him with a terrifying laugh. A laugh that sounded strangely false in Harry's throat.

Ah! Ah! Ah! My dear professor, are you really trying to make me believe that you've become sentimental as you age? I can sense your fear polluting the atmosphere from here. You are aware of the power of the relics. What do you know about them?

Nothing, but I know the most important thing. I have walked this path before you and I have gone far enough to know that it can only bring you solicitude. And whatever its power, a man alone can never accomplish anything worth living for. I implore you one last time: stop this madness.

The personal guard of the Bulgarian minister and half of the magical brigade chose that moment to join the center of the field and help the aurors toencircle Voldemort. They had taken advantage of this exchange to restore calm in the stadium and place the ministers and most of the officials in a secure room under the honor stand. Realizing that they could not evacuate anyone until the barriers set by Voldemort were broken, they decided to head to the center of the stadium. More than a hundred wizards trained for combat now had their wands pointed at Voldemort.

Ah! Ah! Ah! You are right. Even magic has its limits. No matter his powers, a man has no chance against the force you have gathered.

At the end of his sentence, he pressed a Muggle remote control and then nothing more. A great flash of white light appeared and for a microsecond, a deafening silence was heard. There was no noise, but this silence resonated like the loudest din they had ever heard. In fact, the noise was just beyond what a human brain could conceive.

Then the temperature rose to several thousand degrees and everyone was vaporized. Or almost. Dumbledore deployed all his magic and talent, but he was completely overwhelmed. In a fraction of a second, he felt the presence of his children disappear. The air was so suffocating that he could no longer breathe. He didn't know if it was due to the pain caused by the flames or despair, but he bent his knee. Then he felt Mad-Eye, his lifelong companion, extinguish. He heard the voices of all his lost loved ones who had once sacrificed themselves for him and all those still alive who counted on him resonate and fill him with determination. He got up with difficulty to face the infernal blaze.

Several kilometers away, Fred Weasley was swept away with the other clandestine spectators by a deadly shockwave and fainted when his body collided with something soft. Before his mind fell into oblivion, he managed to struggle enough to open his eyes. He didn't know why an old memory resonated within him. It was about a Muggle book that his father had found, he didn't know where, and had shown enthusiastically to the twins in secret from their mother who disapproved of his research.

—These Muggles are so inventive, according to this book, they have a superstition saying that if war breaks out, it will cause the end of the world. Those dear Muggles. They call it mutually assured destruction.

Arthur was telling them while showing a photo that looked exactly like the mushroom-shaped cloud spreading before his eyes.

Then, as quickly as it had appeared, the hell disappeared, leaving behind only an indescribable carnage. Nothing remained except for a few ruins and a fleeing rat. Everything was destroyed except for a cloak, a wand, and a ring glowing with a green light. The light concentrated and from the pile of ash surrounding the three artifacts emerged an arm, then a bare torso to which the cloak wasattached until the triumphant face of young Harry became recognizable. Then his smile faded. He adopted a crazy look and shouted:

Impossible!

In this landscape of death, a golden orb filled with cracks sparkled. As if it had obeyed a mysterious signal, it vanished revealing the headmaster standing with his wand in hand. Dumbledore looked at the heap of corpses surrounding him. Most of the Ministry employees, all the department heads, the Minister himself, most of the Aurors, Obliviators, and members of the Order of the Phoenix. On his advice, all the forces capable of opposing Voldemort had gathered in the stadium to die there. Peter had indeed betrayed him, thought Dumbledore.

His gaze became hard. His eyes were those of a man who had lost everything. He raised his wand. Voldemort tried to react, but his blood froze when he realized he couldn't even cast a simple protego with what remained of his host's weak magical reserves. These had been completely annihilated when, out of pride, he had attempted (unsuccessfully) to withstand the blast of the atomic bomb he had detonated just at the limits of the spells protecting the stadium. Where the magical interferences were weak enough for Muggle technology to work again.

He was completely at Dumbledore's mercy. A simple Stupefy could destroy him. Voldemort felt his final hour arrive. He felt no regret. Just anger and incomprehension. Despite everything he had done, despite the help of the three relics, how could Dumbledore still surpass him? How had he succeeded where he had failed? He who had pushed the boundaries of magic. But before the old wizard could finish his incantation, he fainted.

Voldemort sighed with relief as he saw the ashes raised by his fall gently settle. But his disappointment did not diminish for all that. For the whole world, this day would be one of his triumph. But for him, it would forever be the day when Dumbledore had definitively surpassed him. He screamed in rage until he heard the sound of a helicopter in the distance. He had to leave before the rescue arrived. He cast one last look around him. In the midst of the ashes and charred remains was a black agonizing body. It was impossible to identify, but Voldemort had to vent his anger:

Lucius, so it was you, the traitor. Or rather the leader of the traitors. Of all, you are the one I would have thought the least likely to betray me. You who have served me so faithfully all these years. Don't worry. In the end, even if I had to serve as bait myself, your actions allowed me to triumph and prove my invincibility to all those who would consider following in your footsteps. I will know how to reward your family as it should be for all you have done for me.

But whoever this man (or woman) was, they died in an extremely painful final gasp before Voldemort could finish his sentence.Voldemort let out one last sigh of frustration and after making sure that his reserve of magic had sufficiently recharged, he disapparated as men in fatigues began to approach the area.

oOoOoOo

Author's note: We have finally arrived at the idea that inspired me to write this fanfic: Voldemort showing up in the middle of the Quidditch World Cup final with the Deathly Hallows to detonate an atomic bomb and destroy the wizarding society in one blow. Everything before was imagined by wondering what could lead to this situation and everything after by wondering what could result from it.

Author's Note 2: For many, Voldemort does not use an atomic bomb or other Muggle technology because he is not crazy and does not want to rule over a pile of ashes. Personally, I disagree with this interpretation.

For me, what makes Voldemort so terrifying is precisely that he would be the kind of lunatic who would be delighted to see the world burn as long as he could rule the survivors. For me, the only reason he doesn't use an atomic bomb is simply that, like the majority of wizards, he is unaware of their existence. Voldemort finished his seventh year at Hogwarts in 1944, and after that, I think he had no further contact with the Muggle world. However, the first atomic bomb was only created in 1945. Before that, it was just a possibility known only to a few researchers and science fiction fans, of which Voldemort was probably not a part. Access to Harry's memories corrects this flaw.

Note from the proofreader: I both agree with Serpentfou and disagree with his assumption. I think that as long as Voldemort was Tom Riddle, the idea of destroying everything to rule over a pile of ashes would never have occurred to him. However, from the creation of his first Horcrux, he moved closer to this image. Because with each Horcrux, a piece of soul was missing from the rest, and if you think about it, he gradually lost his lucidity and intelligence, and even his emotions. We can therefore conclude that the fragmentation of the soul is just as harmful. In the end, Nagini had more of Voldemort than Voldemort himself.