Chapter 28: Passing of the Scythe
Dagmar gave Voldemort privacy with Luca, as he'd asked. She didn't really have a concrete way of telling time while asleep. She came to tentatively, hoping that she didn't interrupt anything. Evening had come. They were back up in Dagmar's room.
A strange longing enveloped Dagmar's body. She parsed through the myriad of emotions that blanketed Voldemort, trying to work her way backward on what it might mean. It went well?
Yes.
What did you think of him?
He's about what I expected, from all I heard, Voldemort replied. I wish I had the chance to know him more.
The yearning Voldemort experienced strengthened with a sentimental twist. Dagmar wondered if he would feel that as strongly if more than thirteen days existed between now and his trial.
Amelia came by afterward, Voldemort told Dagmar. She said that since I handled Luca responsibly enough, she's comfortable with me going out to Azkaban to see Bellatrix.
When?
Next weekend.
Did you want to be alone with her too?
If you wouldn't mind.
Dagmar didn't feel much incentive to stick around otherwise. Voldemort took control of her body more often than not in a bid to try and enjoy what little bit of life remained for him. He seemed unsettled rather than comforted when Dagmar told him that death likely didn't feel much different than going unconscious while sharing a body. Voldemort avoided it as much as possible.
He avoided sleep too. Whenever Dagmar came around, she was utterly exhausted. Her heart pounded, as if the only thing keeping her going was adrenaline. Sometimes, giddiness replaced that. Voldemort had nobody to talk to since everyone ignored him. He'd talk to Dagmar then, saying nothing of substance. She almost felt sorry for him, and perhaps a little disturbed. His erratic behaviour (he wasn't eating much either) would be worrisome in a patient that she might encounter at the hospital. Someone this manic might be in a situation where they could hurt themselves.
The week put five more Death Eaters—Rookwood, Travers, the Carrow siblings, and Yaxley—in Azkaban for life. Voldemort talked about them all, reminiscing on the exploits laid out in the Prophet and giving details that Dagmar wasn't sure she wanted. It always came back to the Lestranges, Bellatrix in particular. Dagmar figured that so long as her life was on the line, Voldemort wouldn't hesitate to follow through on the path laid for him.
Dagmar fell asleep on Friday night expecting not to be woken up until the following evening. She came to when it was dark outside, prodded by Voldemort. He stood in front of the bathroom mirror, hair wet and a towel wrapped around them. Dagmar wanted to frown about him taking the liberty to wash her body, not that he would agree to disappear lately when she did anyway. He didn't seem to realize it wasn't a comforting thing to say he already knew what she looked like naked.
Did you need something? Dagmar asked while she yawned. They were so tired that she couldn't even think of a reason why she was awake right now.
I'm leaving for Azkaban in about half an hour, Voldemort replied. Will you make me presentable?
Any particular way?
Mostly Voldemort just wanted Dagmar to deal with her hair. He was tired of doing that. Voldemort didn't want makeup or anything, even if it would make them look less exhausted. Dagmar was happy to go back to sleep, although jarred when her shoulder was shaken.
She sat on the same ferry as when Potter and Professor Parasca took her and Draco to Azkaban. Kingsley stood over her.
"We're here," he said. "He fell asleep."
"I'm not surprised," Dagmar replied. If she so much as closed her eyes, she figured she might nod right back off.
Like a rush and a start, Voldemort was back. Dagmar's heart pounded and he breathed through her nose like they'd just sprinted a mile.
"I'm awake," he stated. "I'm ready."
With that, Dagmar went back to sleep so that Voldemort could have his privacy with Bellatrix. The next time Dagmar woke up, she laid back in her bed at Ramstad Manor. Morning light streamed in through the southern window. It couldn't reach her where her bed situated around the corner.
A heavy feeling as though someone sat on Dagmar enveloped her chest. Dagmar's throat hurt. Her eyes itched and puffed nearly closed. Her sinuses were clogged. Tentatively, Dagmar reached the conclusion that Sunday had arrived. It had to still be soon after Voldemort's visit with Bellatrix for him to be this upset. Dagmar had cried herself to sleep enough times to know this feeling. At least they'd actually finally rested, although it was a small dent in the debt Voldemort accrued the past few weeks.
He was there too.
Are you all right? Dagmar carefully asked.
Voldemort's voice was hollow inside her head. I'm all alone now.
Did it not go well with Bellatrix?
It went as well as something like that can. Voldemort sniffled. I'm never going to see her again. She's never going to see me.
I bet she was upset.
She said she was happy to die for me. I know that. But not like this. Not at the hands of the Ministry. Besides, I've already made my decision. I just hope she'll be all right without me.
Yeah, Dagmar replied, but she sincerely doubted Bellatrix would be.
Am I being selfish, dying in her stead? Voldemort asked. Leaving her here, when it could be her that doesn't have to think or feel anything? She gave everything for me. Her entire life. Who am I to make her stop here when it means she'll have to suffer Azkaban, and suffer knowing we'll never walk free together again?
I don't know. Dagmar paused. Dying is inherently selfish. We're always alone. We always leave people behind. We always leave things undone and unfinished.
Dagmar's eyes welled again, the liquid eventually overflowing onto her pillow. Deep sadness held them like a heavy hand against the bed. It was too overwhelming for anything like a sob or sniffle to manifest. All Voldemort could do, even in control, was lay there in it.
He wouldn't let Dagmar sleep. Whenever she went away, she'd be pulled back in short order. Voldemort didn't want to be alone, but he didn't have anything really to say to her either. He lost interest in everything. It was all Dagmar could do to ask for control a few times a day so she could at least use the toilet. Every time Dagmar stood, she'd grow lightheaded. Voldemort's sporadic meals had dried to nothing. Nobody could convince him to eat. If Dagmar tried to accept something through the bars, Voldemort would take back over and crawl into the bed before she could.
Voldemort stopped caring about the news too. It wasn't like he didn't know what went on. Hearing that Avery, Macnair, Jugson, and Selwyn were off to the North Sea (the last two, having only worked as spies, had parole dates in the distant future) didn't even earn nods of acknowledgement. They were the last ones. With Edgar Selwyn's trial on April twenty-ninth over, only one remained.
Dagmar braced for the possibility that Voldemort might yet change his mind. It could happen at any time, even if he hadn't shown any signs of rethinking the trial. He could follow through with that, and then refuse to let Dagmar go as soon as her mum put a hand over his eyes.
Voldemort fell asleep around dinner time on Thursday. Dagmar went with him, allowing her body some rest before the big day tomorrow. Déjà vu touched Dagmar when she was woken back up. Like before his visit to Bellatrix, Voldemort stood freshly washed in front of the bathroom mirror.
Make me presentable, he requested.
What did you have in mind? Dagmar asked.
Voldemort mulled the question over. You'd know better than I. I've asked for black robes. Makeup is fine. We could use some colour in our face, couldn't we? I'm not dead yet. I might as well look like the living, but keep in mind we are on our way to a funeral.
Dagmar had control, then. Someone had already brought her makeup by. It had to be Draco. With a pang, Dagmar thought how utterly long it had been since she last saw or talked to him. She hadn't seen anyone because of Voldemort's insistence to hang around.
Voldemort remained, watching Dagmar put some colour back into her pale, gaunt cheeks. I suppose when it comes to dying, I'm one of the lucky ones.
What do you mean?
I don't have to do it alone. Voldemort paused. I had you all this time, even if you would have rathered been anywhere else. You could have made this miserable for me. You could have rubbed it in. You could have told me that Bella will lose her mind without me, that she'll deteriorate the same way I have this past week. She'll stop eating and eventually her heart will give out, too broken to carry on.
Could I say that? Dagmar asked. I'm ready to have my body back. I wouldn't want you to decide in spite of me that you're going to stick around.
Sure, but that's not who you are, is it? I can feel what you're feeling, like you can feel what I'm feeling. It's not hate. It's not pity. But you're sympathetic, aren't you?
Dagmar hesitated. Although it was true, she didn't know how exactly to describe it. What to call it existed beyond her tongue. Maybe it's something to do with the fact you've been part of me since I was a baby. You've lived inside of me all my life. We've shared headspace. I guess it feels like a piece of me is going, even if that piece has been responsible for a lot of heartbreak.
Did your mum ever tell you we were friends in your last life?
Sort of. Dagmar didn't know it could really be called a friendship when he'd been fifty years old, and she a teenager. She said I taught you how to read our language. Teased you a lot. I looked at it more like a stepfather type of relationship, considering what eventually happened between you two.
That's perhaps more accurate, Voldemort said. I liked your spirit. You reminded me a little of Bella.
Dagmar scoffed before she could stop herself.
Had things worked out the way they were supposed to with your mum, I would've liked knowing you for a lot longer than I did.
Mm.
I told Luca the same thing. I hope you two stick together.
We will. Dagmar had never asked what specifically he and Luca talked about for Voldemort to come away feeling so wistful. She wanted to respect Luca enough to hear whatever he cared to share out of his mouth instead.
I wanted to thank you before I go.
Dagmar hesitated on applying mascara. For what?
For the things you've done for me, he said. Perhaps they weren't all on a voluntary basis, but I don't think that means you don't deserve gratitude. You kept a fragment of my soul safe. You kept me from dying in Bergen—twice, really. When you treated my injuries, and then when Potter hit me with the Killing Curse. You've been respectful, even if I'm certain you don't much like me.
I don't like the things you've done, Dagmar replied. Maybe if you were different enough to have not taken that path, I would've liked you personally. I can't look past all the dead bodies in your wake, especially when one is my dad's. He died for nothing, considering you wound up here anyway.
Dagmar had to stop working on her makeup to get her emotions under control. She didn't want to ruin the work she'd put in.
You destroyed my family, Dagmar kept on when Voldemort didn't say anything. Not once. Not even twice. Three times—and nearly two more on top of that. My mum and I were fine without you. Then you gave her a son and me a brother that ended up being taken away. Then my dad.
I know.
Do you even care?
I think, if I could help it, I would rather have not done those things.
Dagmar gripped the edge of the sink, biting down into her lip to avoid her eyes welling. She stared up at the ceiling, willing it all to go away.
Luca got me thinking after I saw him, Voldemort said. If I wasn't who I was, a traditional family wouldn't have been terrible. You, me, your mum, and Luca. It could've been a nice, quiet life—like the one I interrupted.
You tried to kill Draco. You tried to kill my mum. You could have orphaned me. I could be completely alone today. Now that Dagmar careened toward anger, she felt powerless to stop it coming to fruition. I know exactly what you're doing. These aren't things you want. You couldn't care less about someone unless they exist to bend to your will. Maybe, yeah, you would want my mum because she loved you. You'd want me and Luca because kids don't really have a choice but to love someone they look at like a parent. Draco wouldn't bend to you. My mum made a fool out of you. So you thought they had to go.
Voldemort didn't say anything.
I realized this about you when you asked to see me at Malfoy Manor, Dagmar kept on. Always the victim. Always trying to bend reality to where you're right and righteous, and everyone else is wrong and stupid. Any time you've ever had was borrowed. It was wasted. You could've just had a normal life, like the one you're acting all nostalgic about now. Thing is, you would never go for that. Even if you went back to the beginning, knowing everything you do, you wouldn't do anything differently. You would use that information to make sure you did it right this time. You would kill the people that stopped you at the right moment to ensure you got what you needed from them, but they wouldn't be in your way. Wouldn't you?
Hm.
Just stop denying what you are. You're a monster. You don't belong in this world.
Funny. Voldemort indeed sounded amused. That's exactly what Luca told me. It doesn't change how strongly you feel about me though, does it?
No, it doesn't. Aware time ticked on before they had to leave, Dagmar tried to keep on getting ready. Don't worry. I won't forget about you. I won't forget how angry I was when I realized my parents were working for you. I won't forget how sad I was when Dad died. I won't forget how scared I was when I came to on the island with you in control of me, or when you tried for Hogwarts, or when you used my hand to kill Dumbledore, or when you tried to kill Draco and Harry, or how you nearly destroyed my mum. I'll remember all that. I'll remember you, exactly as you want to be remembered.
Thank you.
Of all possible reactions, that one annoyed Dagmar the most. Her hands started to shake. Maybe she risked Voldemort sticking around longer to spite her, but it wasn't fair he leave without her getting her own closure. This was what he wanted, wasn't it? His gratitude was genuine. In contrast to Dagmar's anger, satisfaction emanated from his presence.
Dagmar waited to calm down before finishing up her makeup. After mascara, she picked a shade of lipstick that would match the colour of Voldemort's eyes when he took back over. She felt he would appreciate the touch—that it would suit his wishes for his last ever public appearance. A little strapped for time, considering Lydia kept glancing at the clock from her spot against the bathroom doorframe, Dagmar kept her hair simple. She plaited it back into a chignon before going about getting dressed in the main part of the bedroom.
Nerves started to flutter about in Dagmar's stomach. She couldn't tell if they belonged to her or Voldemort. Waiting was agonizing at this point. Five minutes felt like five hours, after which Renée, Ellinor, and Madena entered the bedroom.
"It's time," Lydia said. "Are you ready?"
Voldemort had taken control again so that he could pace. He nodded with a fixed expression, but Dagmar felt more like they might collapse from a mixture of dread, fatigue, and general weakness. They trembled, and Dagmar felt a little light in the head. Her heart pounded as Voldemort followed the four Aurors out of the room. He had to take the stairs slowly to avoid a sluggish foot causing a trip.
Like the other times Dagmar went to the Ministry, she side-alonged. Lydia took her directly to Level Two, then the four of them led Voldemort to the private lifts down to Level Ten. Dagmar could hear the rabble of a full courtroom from the far end of the corridor. It went quiet. As if they stood in Courtroom Ten already, Madam Bones' voice reached them where they were as she opened Wizengamot proceedings for the day.
Although Dagmar felt as though she and Voldemort were falling apart from the inside out, he steadied his foot and lifted his chin on the way down the corridor. The closer they got, the harder Dagmar's heart pounded. Their robes felt too warm. Voldemort had to part Dagmar's lips to keep up with how much oxygen he needed to take in.
He closed her mouth again as they entered the room. Dagmar imagined her face to resemble an emotionless mask. The courtroom had been enlarged. Dagmar hadn't considered it, but spectators for these trials had always been limited to those whose lives were affected by the accused. Not one person in the British wizarding world—and some magical folk beyond it—could say they hadn't been by Voldemort.
A flurry of excitement interrupted Voldemort's nerves as he seemed to reach the same conclusion. Shoulders squared, he headed for the chair at the centre of the room. The chains set into motion as he took a seat, wrapping around his limbs and waist to keep him in place. His gaze bore into Madam Bones, who cleared her throat behind the bench.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle, or as you prefer to be called, Voldemort," she started, "You appear before the Wizengamot today to contest the following charges: the murders of Tom Emerson Riddle, Thomas Parker Riddle, Mary Hazel Riddle, Lily Jane Potter, James Henry Potter, Regulus Arcturus Black, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore. . ."
From there, the names became less familiar to Dagmar. What stuck out most to her was how many there were. Over a hundred names alone belonged to the Azkaban break in January. There was the share of names from December fourth, when Voldemort aided the Carrows and Yaxley to clear the outside guard at Dagmar and Draco's cottage. Two names on that list were from the night Dagmar's dad died.
Multiple attempted murders followed once Madam Bones moved on to the next list of names. Harry James Potter, five counts. Draco Lucius Malfoy. Luca Ivan Parasca. Hildegard Ramstad. And more.
Next came the accessory to murder charge. Among them listed were Cedric Diggory and Rufus Scrimgeour, the latter of which segued the list of charges into conspiracy. Conspiracy to assassinate the Minister for Magic. Conspiracy to commit insurrection against the Ministry of Magic. Two counts of conspiracy to commit mass-murder at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry by opening the Chamber of Secrets.
Speaking of Hogwarts, a count of attempted siege followed. Trespassing in restricted areas of government facilities (the Department of Mysteries) and destruction of government property (the results of that attempt to steal the prophecy). Providing false testimony, regarding pinning blame on Rubeus Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets in 1943. Two counts of kidnapping and imprisonment, one against Narcissa Malfoy and the other against Kingsley Shacklebolt. Coercion of Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, Dagmar Ramstad, Hildegard Ramstad, Erik Ramstad, and Ginny Weasley to commit felonies. Attempt to coerce Draco Malfoy to become accessory to the murder of Harry Potter. Spiritual possession of Ginny Weasley and Dagmar Ramstad.
Not long after Madam Bones had started reading off the charges, Dagmar became aware of a dawning longing in Voldemort. It mirrored in his expression as a sad smile. In a room silent even of breath, all that existed as far as Voldemort could see was him and his legacy. Every name read was the starting point of a network of people that would remember him. They might yet still fear him. Even if they sat here today and witnessed his death, they might not ever feel completely certain he was gone. A bittersweetness lingered about it, since the Death Eaters were all so far away. Other than them not being present, this was exactly what Voldemort had hoped to experience in this courtroom.
Madam Bones eventually reached the end of everything she had to say. It had required half a glass of water to keep her throat hydrated, and took the better part of a quarter-hour to accomplish.
"Does that sound about right?" she asked Voldemort.
"Maybe," he replied. "I'm certain there are more."
"Are there any names you know of that you didn't hear listed?"
Voldemort did happen to have some. As part of submitting them as charges, he needed to recall details—not just the names. Voldemort was able to do that, so Madam Bones wrote them down.
"We'll go through them all one by one now," Madam Bones said. "You'll have a chance to tell your side of the story."
"Would you rather I go by your charge list, or in chronological order?"
"Do you remember it all well enough to go chronologically?"
"I believe so. If I miss any, feel free to prompt me."
"Very well." Madam Bones nodded. "I suppose we'll start with the Riddle family. Did you kill your father, grandmother, or grandfather first?"
"My grandmother," Voldemort replied. "She was particularly vehement that my father not acknowledge me. She was annoying."
And so it went on. It felt like hours just to get up to the seventies, when Voldemort really started to organize the Death Eaters. Lydia would offer him sips of water when he needed it, and he needed a break close to noon to use a toilet. Dagmar almost wanted to go to sleep for how awful and tedious hearing everything was. Voldemort would occasionally clog with emotion—reminiscence, excitement—which was horrible to feel. Dagmar grew nervous that, after getting all of this out, Voldemort would decide he didn't want to leave a world where all the misery he had caused existed. It came up on three o'clock when Voldemort finished everything off with his attempted murder of Dagmar's mum at Easter.
Madam Bones' gaze had fallen somewhat out of focus through it all. A month of listening to all of this had to be more than enough to burn someone out. As far as Dagmar knew from reading the papers, today's had certainly gone on the longest.
"We've just spent several weeks running through the members of your organization, sorting out how the Death Eaters operated," Madam Bones eventually said. "In all that I heard today, I discern no contradiction to the guilty indictments that preceded. Should anyone in the Wizengamot understand differently, please raise your hand to be called upon."
They all remained still and silent.
"Very well." Those two words injected anxiety into Dagmar whether it was Voldemort in control or not. "In preparation for today, Voldemort, you and I struck a deal. I told you on April sixth that should you agree to leave Dagmar's body, I would commute Bellatrix's death sentence to life instead. Since then, only Rodolphus received the same sentence. I will uphold my end of the bargain and do so for him as well. In part of making good on your end, my stipulation was that you must vacate Dagmar's body prior to May sixth. I also agreed to guarantee that you would not be placed into a new vessel for the purpose of containment. I guaranteed that should all conditions of this agreement be met, I would grant you death. Do you still agree to this?"
"Yes." He didn't hesitate.
"Do you find it acceptable, seeing as we're already here with the means, to do so today?"
"I came prepared for it."
"Would Hildegard Ramstad please join the floor?" Madam Bones looked over to her right before her gaze returned to Voldemort. "Do you have any last words? The world is listening."
Voldemort hesitated, thinking. Dagmar would've thought he'd have something planned for this moment—or maybe he had a pool of possibilities to pull from and had yet to make a final decision. Whichever it was, Voldemort glanced over to the left when he spotted movement.
Dagmar's mum stood there. She toyed with her fingers in front of her stomach, gazing back at him with a pinched expression. The wrists of her robes slid down her forearm enough for the edge of runes to be visible. Dagmar reckoned she could hear her mum's heart pounding from across the floor.
Voldemort's picked up in kind, nearly painfully so. He swallowed, and it was like the muscles failed to relax after. His breath further restricted, as if his diaphragm didn't want to function either. He started sweating again. On either armrest of the chair, he balled his hands to prevent showing that they started to shake.
I guess this is it, he said to Dagmar.
You didn't have any last words? Dagmar prompted him, since Madam Bones and the entire courtroom still waited.
Voldemort didn't respond. Dagmar sensed the stop in their mind's function, only worsening as her mum gradually approached where Lydia stood. Fear of the unknown—anything more than five minutes from now—gripped Voldemort. No more tomorrows. No more breaths. No more thoughts. No more feelings. Just—nothing. Void.
It'll be all right, Dagmar tried. You won't feel anything.
That's what I'm afraid of. I don't know if I'm ready.
We're never ready.
A horrible ache set in Dagmar's throat. Her sinuses sounded wet as Voldemort breathed, each inhale and exhale precious in the minute countdown to his last one. Voldemort either couldn't or wouldn't break gaze with Dagmar's mum. Dagmar could see her fighting it as well.
"Voldemort?" Madam Bones prompted him.
He shook his head, still unable to look away from Dagmar's mum.
"No last words?" Madam Bones asked, to be certain. "Whenever you're ready then, Hildegard."
Her expression rippled at those words. She didn't want to do this either, if Dagmar read her right. Did anyone? Was a single person in this room actually happy that this was where they had all wound up—that this was necessary?
Voldemort's tremble worsened as Dagmar's mum stepped up behind him. He fought as hard as he could to keep a straight face, but Dagmar felt them on the precipice of falling apart. Voldemort's breath turned shallow. Dagmar's mum hovered far enough away for them not to touch, but her presence was everywhere around them. Dagmar could smell her perfume, could hear the slight sniffle that came with each inhale, could feel her grief mingled with anxiety to finally undo one of the greatest mistakes of her life.
Her left hand appeared in Dagmar's peripheral vision, coming to rest over her eyes. Voldemort inhaled roughly, parting Dagmar's lips with it. The courtroom disappeared to slightly reddish lines, nothing discernible anymore through the gaps of Dagmar's mum's fingers. Voldemort looked around to try and see anyway, making Dagmar's eyelashes drag against cool skin. It all blurred. Voldemort blinked to try and hide from that fear. Dagmar's eyelids seemed too heavy to open again.
"Hildegard," he breathed, hardly audible even to Dagmar's own ear.
Dagmar's mum's hand trembled. "What?"
"I'm sorry."
Given the situation, Dagmar doubted it was genuine—at least for the reasons her mum would want to hear it. Dagmar strained to discern her mum's reaction, to see if she accepted or even believed it. Dagmar had no idea what it actually meant when her mum placed a hand on Dagmar's right shoulder. She didn't squeeze or anything. Was it comfort, acknowledgement, or simply means to brace herself for the task ahead?
Dagmar's mum inhaled deeply. Her exhale steadied her into druidic focus. The thrum of her magic nearly graduated to an audible hum as the points of contact between her and them electrified. Dagmar could feel the hair on her arms stand upright. Although her head rested back against the chair, she felt as though she tipped forward. It left her nauseous, but it didn't matter because any part of her body that might accommodate that physical sensation started to separate from herself. Her fingers came away like gloves, and her feet like socks.
Even though Dagmar didn't have fingers, she became aware of something holding onto her as if she did. Dagmar had grown far too familiar with Voldemort not to recognize him. As the two of them separated, his grip became more palpable. Something more than just centrifugal force yanked Dagmar away. Voldemort held tight.
You have to let go, she said, unsure if they could even still communicate without a common brain.
Invisible hooks held them together. Dagmar waited, fearing again that Voldemort wouldn't be able to bring himself to do it.
All at once, they released. Dagmar careened backward. A confusing blur ended with her seated back in a familiar place. Kinaesthetic awareness returned to her. She could move her fingers and toes again. She needed to breathe. When Dagmar opened her eyes, she still looked at the back of her mum's fingers.
Her mum took them away as the druidic connection between them closed. Dagmar slumped as far forward in the chair as the chains holding her fast would allow. She lifted her head. Her eyes widened as her mum stepped around her.
Above her extended right hand floated a wispy, white orb. It put off a small amount of light, lending more to the likeness of a distant star. Small lashes of matter would periodically extend off it. It rotated, gradually slowing.
Her mum looked up at the bench. Expression grave, Madam Bones dipped her chin in a nod. Dagmar's mum exhaled again back into focus. Voldemort's soul put off more light as its spin accelerated. A whistle became audible more in the back of Dagmar's mind than to her actual ear. It grated her. The air in the room grew heavy, like before a storm. Sound fell away as if Dagmar walked backward through a tunnel. A chill made her teeth chatter, and her next exhale became visible as heat similarly sucked out of the room.
Voldemort's soul became perfectly spherical. It outshone the room's torches as all the energy Dagmar's mum focused within him transmuted. Just when Dagmar didn't think she could stand to be so close anymore—that Voldemort would grow too bright to look at—a discordant shattering sound assaulted her eardrums. Dagmar closed her eyes in reaction to what looked like shards heading toward her.
Nothing connected, so she tentatively looked again. The light was gone, or had at least faded in how it scattered. Like stars dotting the sky in early evening, they twinkled. One by one, as if swallowed by dawn, they winked out.
Heat and sound returned to the room. Dagmar became aware of breathing, whispers, and shuffling on all sides of her.
"Dagmar," Madam Bones spoke, hushing the room.
She had to find her voice to reply. "Ja?"
"When you sat your trial on March twenty-ninth, I told you as part of your acquittal that you would remain under house arrest until Voldemort's soul could be removed from your body," Madam Bones replied. "As Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot, I am satisfied that this condition has been met. The ward runes holding you to Ramstad Manor and Malfoy Manor will be removed. Your stymy will also be removed, and your wand returned to you. You are free to go."