The freshly made footsteps in the newly fallen snow were the only indication that anyone was still awake. It was, after all, late in the evening. The village of Godric's Hollow was eerily quiet and still, not even animals making a sound. Some might say it was quiet because it was Christmas Eve, and most people should have been long tucked away in their beds. But that was not the reason.

The reason was the wizard walking through the village, his eyes a glowing red and his skin almost as white as the snow. His strides were long and quick as he moved with a confidence that one only had when they knew they had won.

He had won.

The taste of victory was so very sweet on his tongue, and if he wasn't such a distinguished wizard, he would surely be giggling to himself. After all this time, after all these years, he had finally defeated his nemesis. Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, was finally dead. He had his snake to thank for that, and he thought it was a shame he didn't think to use her earlier. After all, he knew she was much smarter than most of the morons he called followers.

He came to an abrupt stop in front of what used to be Bathilda Bagshot's cottage. To anyone else walking by, it appeared to be in pristine condition. The outside paint looked perfect; the windows were sparkling. Only he could see how the house actually appeared. The front door was hanging off its hinges, looking as if the slightest breeze would rip it completely away from the frame. The glass from all the windows was blown out, and it crunched under his shoes as he crossed the threshold into the cottage.

The inside looked significantly worse than the outside. There wasn't a piece of furniture in sight that wasn't in splinters. Chunks of wall were laying on the floor, having been blasted apart by spells. He turned towards where he knew the stairs were and began walking towards them, side stepping the debris on the floor. He climbed the stairs warily, unsure as to whether there might be structural damage. It wouldn't do to have such a powerful wizard as himself get hurt from falling through some stairs.

It was in the upstairs hallway where he first spotted the blood. It was just a drop but as he continued walking, he saw the drops getting bigger and closer together, until he found a large pool outside one of the bedroom doors. Smiling in glee, knowing this is where Potter would be, he walked into the room. And that was where he saw a scene that gave him more joy than any other had in his whole life. It was Potter, lying in a puddle of his own blood, with Nagini keeping watch over his dead body.

"Are you certain he is dead?" he asked his familiar. Nagini's insulted response made him chuckle.

"Now, now, my dear, you can't blame me for asking. After all, he has escaped death so many times." He said as he circled the body, giving it a little nudge with his foot. Satisfied that Potter was actually dead this time, he was about to call the rest of his followers to bask in his victory when he heard it. It was a very faint groan, so faint he almost didn't hear it. His eyes darted around the room until they fell on a small body in the opposite corner.

It was a girl. She was covered in blood, hers or Potter's he did not know, and all he could really make out about her was that her hair was brown and slightly bushy. That was when it clicked, and suddenly the whole house was filled with the sound of his cackling. It was the Mudblood! He had heard many things about her, and he had to admit that she intrigued him somewhat. He wanted to see how someone so dirty could be so good at magic. Maybe he would let her live.

At least for now.

He decided it was time to call his followers so they could see his victory. In an instant, his inner circle was crammed into the not-large room, all eyes fixed on the body in the center.

"My Lord, is that who I think it is?" Bellatrix asked, her eyes gleaming with madness.

"Yes, Bellatrix. Rejoice, my pets, for the Boy-Who-Lived has finally ceased to do so."

Cheers broke out, and Bellatrix pranced happily around the room. As she did so, she accidentally tripped over the girl causing her to groan again.

"Oh, my Lord! This one is still alive. May I kill her for you?" Bellatrix asked, shifting from side to side in anticipation of killing.

"No, you may not. She intrigues me. We will take her alive, and I will not tolerate any questions."

Bellatrix looked disappointed but put her wand away. He ordered Dolohov to take Potter's body and Lucius to take the girl's. They would go back to Malfoy Manor and celebrate. He would decide what to do with the Mudblood later.

"How's he doing today?" Hermione asked Daphne, Tom's first shift nurse.

"He seems to be doing much better. He was a little agitated earlier, but it seems to have mostly passed. Something odd happened right before you came in though. He started mumbling Harry's name and then would laugh loudly."

"I really don't understand what happened between those two. I have never seen a patient react to a Healer in such a negative way. And with the length of time that Tom has been here, it's not like he had ever met Harry before he fell ill."

"It is certainly the weirdest thing I've seen on this floor, and that's saying a lot! At least he seems to like you. Have a good shift," Daphne said as she waved goodbye. Hermione pushed open the door to Tom's room to find the man staring out the window, a large smile on his face.

"Hello, Tom. I see you are in a good mood today," Hermione addressed him. Tom turned away from the window towards her, that smile still affixed on his face. If she was being completely honest, it was slightly creepy.

"Hello, my Mudblood."

Written for The Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition
Prompt: Voldemort Wins!AU: How and when does Voldemort 'win' or rise to power?
Go Wanderers!

Thanks to Ciara for the quick look and Liza for the idea!