A/N: Hey this is my first FanFic story. I had been reading the seventh Harry Potter book and just thought, "Hey, what if he died that way?" Please review when you're done!!!!!
Everybody was back in Hogwarts. The battle for Harry had ceased; everybody had lowered their wands to see who-Harry or Voldemort-would triumph in the end.
"Think, and try for some remorse, Riddle…" said Harry.
"What's this?" Voldemort questioned.
When Harry had said this, Voldemort had reacted in a strange way. His skin, if possible, had turned a whiter shade of white, and his pupils had contracted to thin slits.
"It's your last chance," said Harry, "it's all you've got left…I've seen what you'll be otherwise…be a man…try…Try for some remorse…"
What Harry had said had shocked Voldemort. Why would he, a mere boy, care for the most powerful wizard on earth? But of course, thought Voldemort, the boy has learned from Dumbledore.
Voldemort raised his wand slowly, but before he said or did anything, his mind began to wonder. What if he did try for some remorse? What if he actually thought back to the countless people he murdered, tortured, and did who knows what else to? Did they really deserve it? Voldemort's body began to tremble, bearing in mind that he might actually be feeling a portion of remorse. "NO!" He began to sprint from the room, away from here, away from everybody. He heard Harry's footsteps behind him.
Panting, Voldemort finally slowed to a stop in an empty, disheveled class room that was probably inhabited in the early events of the war.
He turned to Harry and screamed, "Why do I, of all people, need to feel remorse?! I'm the Dark Lord! People everywhere are terrified to say my name, let alone hear it! Why me?!" He began to laugh his high, cold laugh. But this time, it didn't sound cruel. It sounded insane, absolutely absurd. Far from human.
"Tom," Harry said, "just try. Try to feel sorry, try to be human."
"Why do I need to feel sorry for my muggle, good for nothing father? Why do I need to feel sorry? HA! He deserved it. They all did. ALL OF THEM!" He screamed at the top of his lungs, and it rang through the room echoing off every flat surface.
"Exactly why did they deserve it, Riddle? Why did they have to die?" Questioned Harry.
Voldemort's knees began to tremble, at last resulting in him falling forward, shaking uncontrollably. A pain, more terrible than anything, worse than the Cruciatus Curse, began to build in his stomach, boiling up as it grew hotter and higher to his chest. He knew what he had to do. He raised his trembling wand arm, pointing it up to the side of his head.
"I'm sorry…" he croaked, barely more than a whisper.
At first, Harry didn't know what he was doing, maybe withdrawing a memory for a pensieve…but suddenly, he realized.
"NO!"
But it was too late. Voldemort simply said, "Avada Kedavra," and there was a spark of green light. Voldemort fell over dead, not of the accord of the Boy Who Lived, but of his own.
