Hogwarts: I am Voldemort

"Bang, bang."

When he saw Voldemort put the chewing gum into his mouth, the old gentleman suddenly hit his chest hard twice.

Then he raised his head and looked at Voldemort with ferocious eyes: "I will not admit defeat, Tom, I never admit defeat."

Voldemort nodded, but frowned...

I can understand not giving in, but what's the point?

In this world, are there many people who are beaten to death by life and refuse to admit defeat?

No one admitted defeat, but those who "didn't accept" were beaten away, and in the end only "losers" were left.

"Tom, you don't understand me."

Ferguson saw through his thoughts and pointed to the children training in the distance, "What did you see from them?"

"Um...the future?" Voldemort tried to answer.

"That's theirs, Tom, not mine."

Voldemort was a little surprised by Ferguson's words, but he knew that Class 92 was of great significance to Ferguson's coaching career.

"They're my life, Tom, my life."

Ferguson yelled so loudly that even the children training in the distance looked over, but he didn't care at all.

"There are not many talented children, and it is even harder to bring them together. When you have the opportunity to seize all of this, it is an opportunity to change your destiny."

"The opportunity may only come once in a lifetime."

Ferguson stretched out a finger in excitement. The fingers he held turned white with excitement, and the one that was raised trembled with excitement.

Voldemort stared at Ferguson's fingers, his eyes contracted and his heart surged.

"I regard them as my life, but I never hold back, Tom. I am not a good person in the traditional sense."

Ferguson paused briefly, chewed his gum quickly, and then said, "Not all talented children are suitable for my lineup. I can't want such people."

Voldemort nodded, thinking of Snape.

Perhaps, this person who he once valued so much, and who even in Lin Zuo's memory would favor him in the future, was the one he couldn't have.

"Some are injured in accidents, so they have to leave. There are also those who have lost their ambitions after achieving small victories, and those who are old and cannot keep up with their bodies..."

"In short, the road to victory is destined to be littered with corpses, and..."

"No one can rest on my laurels, Tom, not one."

"For no other reason than I don't want to lose, I want to win."

Voldemort stared at Ferguson. He was not as old as Lin Zuo remembered, but his eyes were as tough as that time.

He is ambitious, he is ambitious, and he has a firm goal...

Suddenly, Voldemort couldn't help but ask himself:

What do I want?

If I just delve into magic, why should I be pulled between these people and things?

Maybe I also want rights, but I'm afraid I won't get them, so I hesitate and wander between the two...

Voldemort froze on the spot, while Ferguson's face broke into a smile. He knew that the man in front of him had understood.

Everyone wants to win, but those who dare to face their own desire to win...

not much.

“Welcome to the road of paranoia.”

Ferguson murmured softly, turned and walked towards the child not far away.

His arrival naturally made the children excited. They expressed themselves actively and sweated their youth wantonly on the Manchester training ground in the afternoon.

"Beckham, play braver," Ferguson shouted.

"good."

The blond boy responded loudly before making a clean tackle.

Ferguson applauded him, turned his head and saw that Voldemort was still in a daze, but an old gentleman appeared next to him.

Maybe, it's the elders of his family... He thought like this and withdrew his gaze.

Voldemort pondered for a long time. When he cleared his mind and raised his head again, he saw Ferguson in the distance, roaring at the students of Class 92.

"Have you turned on the hair dryer?" He murmured with a happy smile.

"What hair dryer?"

The sudden voice of inquiry startled Voldemort. He almost instinctively picked up the wand with his right hand, reached for the pistol at his waist with his left hand, and turned around...

"Albus?" Voldemort was surprised.

"I guessed you would come here, Tom. I found the picture of you hugging Ferguson on the TV station." Old Bee said with a smile on his face.

"You are so annoying, Albus, could you please stop pestering me?"

As Voldemort said this, he took out a pistol with his left hand, avoiding Ferguson's eyes and holding it in his hand - he really wanted to kill this old guy with one shot...

"I need to figure out what you are going to do, Tom. Your changes make me think... maybe there is hope for you."

Dumbledore glanced at the gun in Voldemort's hand, and the old guy still had some curiosity in his eyes.

"There is no hope, Albus. Just now, hope disappeared." Voldemort said with a smile.

Dumbledore looked at him doubtfully, not understanding what he meant.

"I want to regain power, Albus. From today on, I will not stop until I climb to the top of the wizarding world and stand at the highest point to see all the mountains and small mountains."

Voldemort smiled, but the smile on Dumbledore's face was fading.

"Tom, are you sure?" Dumbledore asked, slowly pulling out the Elder Wand.

"Is it the Elder Wand? Albus, the Deathly Hallows, right?" Voldemort asked.

Dumbledore was stunned. He didn't expect Voldemort to recognize it.

"I have wanted to get it, very much. Albus, it seems that I am going to take it out of your grave."

Voldemort said, finally moving his greedy eyes away from the Elder Wand, and pointed the gun in his left hand at the children playing football in the distance.

"Did you see that blond kid? Albus, his name is Beckham. He will grow up to be a heartthrob in the future. He is very handsome."

Voldemort smiled and picked up his pistol twice, "One shot and he will have no future."

"Are you threatening me?" Dumbledore asked, narrowing his eyes.

"Otherwise?" Voldemort looked confused, "If it's not a threat, do you think I'm joking?"

Dumbledore was silent. He stared into Voldemort's eyes, hoping to see more, but there was nothing there except a smile.

"Will you kill Harry?" Dumbledore asked.

"It depends on what you do, Albus. I have no intention of killing anyone at the moment, but if you come to bother me again..."

Voldemort chuckled, "I'm better at group attacks than Sirius. Which county do you want a group of people to die in?"

Dumbledore: ...

"Get out of here, and stay away from me, Albus, don't bother me again, this is your last warning."

Voldemort finally stopped smiling and said, "One more time, I will choose one of the Muggle wizards to kill. I will do what I say."

Dumbledore stared at Voldemort for a long time, then used Apparition full of anger and disappeared from Voldemort's eyes.

"Hey, where was that person just now?" Ferguson asked loudly in the distance.

"I went home to cook. My butler will make soup for me tonight."

Voldemort said with a smile, then waved goodbye to him and left the training ground alone.

Once you have a goal, you need to make a plan. Just like football, there must be a technical and tactical plan... Voldemort thought.