Sometimes, he thought he lived in a crater. It was all around him, the sudden explosion of shock, grief and relief, going off like firecrackers. He would never forget that sound, when Lord Voldemort perished at his own wand, when he thudded lifelessly to the ground, empty and spent. He would never forget the look in his eyes, the blank slits, as devoid of good emotion in death as in life. He would never admit it, but he knew, and he was scared. He knew that it could have been him.