He remembered the ashes that fluttered through the night sky as the curses and spells were scattered to the four winds. Remembered the screams of the dying, the cries of agony and the bitter metallic scent of blood in the air that he could taste on his tongue with every gasped breath.
He remembered looking out on the battle field from the highest tower in Hogwarts. Remembered the artist dream that had lain out before him like chaos on canvas. Blood soaking the ground to crimson mud and bodies scattered like the last of the dandelions.
No tears fall now for the dead from Avada eyes. No guilty nightmares or broken pleas for a worthless life trip from his parted lips.
But above all, he remembered his lovers strong, swift and sure movements within him as he took him from behind.
"Your wedding present my Love," the wizard that had been Tom Marvolo Riddle whispered in his ear and above them the dark storm clouds wept for the dead because their Golden Child, their Chosen One. Had fallen and no more tears would he spill for his betrayers.