Perspiration trickled into his dark hairline, and his brows furrowed to create a pained hood over his tight eyes. His clenched jaw grinded the teeth within as he suppressed the urge to scream out in agony.
His head tossed back and forth in an effort to alleviate the pulsating throb. Behind his heavy lids flickered the images of the lifeless gray faces staring at him, of every muggle he slaughtered without hesitation to quench Voldemort's thirst for blood.
Like a film stuck on replay, the last few seconds filtered through, where the glaze of death took over their teary eyes, comatose hollowed their features, and their skin ashened as the essence of life flittered away. He watched as they cowered from him, pleading to take mercy.
He saw the acceptance burst through them as their bodies relaxed and welcomed death, when the green of the killing curse shot out from his wand and spiraled towards them. He was a murderer. He was their murderer.
His hands were crimson with the fates of seventy-six people, with families and futures. A lone tear, fat with sorrow, slithered down the pallid face of Severus Snape.
The serpent-slitted red eyes of Voldemort, alight with mockery flashed under his eyelids.