Lost Epilogue #2

The Dark Lord's Passing

Where is this? Voldemort thought, as the place came into focus. He wondered how he had ended up there.

THE BOY. With a ferocious hiss, thought erupted through him. His last moments had been with that talentless, arrogant waste of wizard blood. He knew that the boy must have caused this. What had happened now? He did not feel as he had the last time he nearly ruined himself attacking the boy -- this time there was no pain, no retreat. This time he hadn't felt his soul tear from his dead flesh. This time he only felt dry, empty, and dull.

Dull was not something Voldemort was accustomed to feeling. Others were dull, stupid, but that was only to his advantage. He was always one step ahead, overpowering his enemies, conquering his surroundings. But what were these surroundings? It was hard to make anything out through the noxious green vapor. It was hot, and it saturated him. He was floating aimlessly, as he had those ill-fated years in the forests of Albania. All else that surrounded him was rocky outcropping. The cave. He must be in the cave. But why would he return here, when his Horcrux had been stolen?

Had it been destroyed? Had they all been destroyed? The boy. He had said ... what? ... That there were no more Horcruxes.

Then why was he here?

"Tom Marvolo Riddle," said a voice, sounding as disembodied as Voldemort felt.

"How dare you?" hissed Vodemort. "Show yourself!"

"If you insist," said a man, emerging from a dense cloud of the green mist, or from nowhere, Voldemort couldn't tell. The silver-haired figure was wearing flowing robes of deep blue.

"Dumbledore." Voldemort's dullness outweighed his surprise. "You are dead. I saw your decaying body."

"Yes, Tom. Now think, what might that say about you?"

"Dead?" hissed Voldemort, considering the information. "Perhaps. What happened with the boy?"

"You underestimated old magic, just as you have always done. Potter understands the power of sacrifice. He also seems to have developed an understanding of wandlore, which you don't seem to have thought worthy of your attention."

"Yes, the wand. The Elder Wand. It failed me, I remember now." Voldemort was not happy to hear the news. He had not defeated his final enemy. Death, not only the boy, had conquered him at last. "What now?"

"Now you must choose, Tom. You may move on, or you may become a shadow of your former self. Even more a shadow, I dare say, than you were before."

"I refuse to become a powerless ghost, like that ridiculous Bloody Baron. I shall pass," declared Voldemort, violently, authoritatively.

"Excellent choice, Tom. It is good to see you are braver in death than you were in life -- again, considering that you were quite the coward. Best of luck to you." With a slight smile and nod, Dumbledore turned and walked into the mist.

"But, am I to follow?" Voldemort asked, allowing some confusion and fear to enter his cold, high voice.

"No," said Dumbledore's voice, as his body was now nowhere to be seen. "I think some old friends will be coming to accompany you on your journey."

At that, Voldemort shifted his gaze expectantly. Figures were emerging from the lake that he knew had lain below the green fumes. Without anywhere to turn, for they were coming from every direction, the cold, dead hands of the Inferi enveloped his very essence, dragging Voldemort to the cold, dark resting place of his wicked and damaged soul.

-- by s-bomb