Black Snow
A man, dressed in complete black, stared at the casket unblinking. He'd been here for god knows how long, he knew it must be at least a day because he was starving and his legs ached. And yet. He couldn't move.
There was no physical restraint, no chains, no shackles, no ropes. Just a mixer of shock and despair.
It was funny he though, absently rubbing his eyes, that when the one thing that the one thing he had wished for, for 19 years had finally been granted. He no longer wanted it.
He never really realised how much of his life revolved around this one wish. It had drove him, it was the reason he got out of bed in the morning. It was his life.
He should feel overjoyed that his wish had been granted, and yet, he felt only a cold, detached emptiness.
Here lay the cold, lifeless, corpse of his nemesis, his rival, his enemy. His reason. Hating him had been his life. In killing him he had killed himself.
His body had been encased in a crystal casket as a trophy. A symbol of power. It had been displayed in the new ministry of magic to remind those who their leader was.
It had soon been moved.
He had started obsessing over it, standing in front of it for hours. People had begun to question his already questionable sanity. And so, he had it moved. Moved into a private hidden room, which only he could access.
A room he rarely left.
He gave a dry laugh. Lord of Britain. Soon to be master of the world. And he spent his life in here. Living in the past, ignoring the present, not caring of the future. Pathetic of him he knew. But couldn't bring himself to care.
Walking up to the casket he lay a black rose upon its top, fell to his knee's and in a brief moment of total weakness. Wept. He wept for what was, what could have been and what will be.
Taking his wand he muttered to last two words he'd ever speak.
Lord Voldemort was no more.
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I know this is short but it was just a thought that popped into my head and wouldn't go away. Please R&R.