Narcissa Malfoy's voice broke the silence of the bated breath of all the Death Eaters, "He is dead!"
There were cheers all around, and Voldemort let out a long cold cackle. But inside, it felt like an empty victory. He felt like a piece of his soul had just been rended to shreds. He had just killed his mortal enemy. His victory, and grasp on the wizarding world were both set in stone. But it felt all wrong. His wand slipped from his grasp and fell to the ground, making a slight clatter on a nearby rock. Bellatrix immediately stooped down and picked it up and held it out for him, her eyes averted. Voldemort brushed her hand aside.
He had spent so many years trying for this victory, trying to kill this little pest…was he wrong to do so? It had hardly bothered him up until now, but now that he finally committed the deed…he realized maybe that wasn't what he wanted to do.
Then it hit him: public services.
He called off his incredibly confused forces, and they had a solemn withdrawal into the night, as the students and staff of Hogwarts looked on, perplexed. The dead were counted, respects were paid, bodies were buried. The castle was rebuilt, homes were fixed back up, families and friends were reunited. The thick air of fear that had set over the world was lifted.
Voldemort used what remained of his funds in his bank, and bought a small house on the edge of a bustling town, and eventually, Bellatrix moved there, as a live in girlfriend. They lived a happy life, with their pet snake Nagini and two cats, Mr. Whiskers and Oscar.
He worked at the local department of motor vehicles, and woke up early each day to deal with customers, most of them muggles, and most of them also insufferable idiots. The pay wasn't great, but it got them by. And Bellatrix was always there to comfort him at the end of stressful days.
It was a day just like any other. A muggle gentleman looking very disheveled, presented papers to get his license renewed. "I'm sorry sir, you filled out form C2, I need you to fill out form C3, which also includes your phone number."
The man grimaced. "I've been in line for three hours, can't you just please enter it without me filling out a new form?"
Voldemort glared at him. "I've killed muggles for less than your arguments right now. Back of the line. The lord of Darkness doesn't have time for your buffoonery."
A young gentleman walked up next, with rounded glasses and messy black hair. And…was that what he thought it was? Yes, a fine lightning bolt scar on his forehead.
"Hello sir, can I help you today?"
The man glanced up before rummaging in his wallet, "Yes, I just need to renew my license and…" He stopped and did a double take before his hand went to his jeans instinctively for his wand.
"I'm not going to try to kill you. I knew you lived on, but frankly, I was tired of the whole ordeal. There's more to life than hunting down and killing The Boy Who Lived. I did kill your parents though, I expect you'll want revenge?"
"Revenge? On you? I'd like it, but I imagine a life of working at the DMV is more punishment than my wand or fists could ever deal out. Well…here's my paperwork, and my money order."
Voldemort scrutinized the paperwork, and handed it back. "I'm sorry mister Potter, but you signed where it clearly says print, and printed where it clearly says sign."
"But…can't I just fix it here?"
"Absolutely not, my shift is over now."
"But…I'm Harry Potter."
"I don't care if you are the Chosen One, to the end of the line with you."
Harry scowled at him, but did nothing more. "Oh, and Harry? Take care of yourself."
"You too, Tom. You too."