Thanks to Possum132, who talked me into expand this, and also kindly helped me with the grammar, I have decided to write a few more chapters of this story, exploring a few selected Harry Potter-characters' relationships to their Pullmanian deaths. Enjoy!
Voldemort's death
There is a woman that follows Tom wherever he goes. He knows she is there, that however fast he runs, whatever tricks he tries to evade her, she will always be close, standing just out of sight. At night, when he tries to sleep, he can almost hear her, feel her, leaning over him in his bed, choking him with her presence and the simple, terrible fact that she is there, so very close to him. When that happens he leaps up from his bed, panic in his eyes, and his spells light up every corner of the room, dispel every dark shadow, and he can see that he is alone. He shivers and strengthens the wards and charms that protect him, thinks over the web of lies and intrigues that guards him. But she is still there and he cries alone at night in utter despair, because no matter what he does, no matter how great his strength and his cunning and the control he has over his followers, he will never, ever get rid of the woman that follows him.
He has done everything, he has ventured further down those dark, terrible paths that lead towards immortality than any wizard has ever dared, done unspeakable things and made sacrifices more dear than most would ever endure. But still he cries, because she is still there. He tore his own soul apart, a gruesome deed, thinking foolishly that it might give him some respite, that it might at last stop the woman from following him. But it did not. Again and again he spliced his soul until precious little remained. He had thought it a path towards immortality, towards finally being free from the terrible, shadowy lady who follows him. But how he was mistaken. For every new Horcrux, for every time he splinched his soul, the closer did the lady that followed him come, until she was practically standing by his side, her grey face, a mocking image of his own, next to his in the mirror.
Once she almost had him, that terrible day when his Killing Curse turned on himself and her cold fingers grasped his heart. He managed to flee that day, flee to a distant land, less then a ghost, less then a memory, naked and terrified. But still she followed him, never for a moment losing him from her sight, so he cries, alone at night, in utter dread.
The woman that follows him is Tom Riddle's death. She is sad that he tries to flee her, sad that he wastes his life in fear and fruitless avoidance of that which can never be avoided. She tries to make herself unobtrusive, not to scare him or bother him, but the man she follows is so very afraid of her that he never can restrain himself from looking for her. She tries to talk to him, sometimes, tries to comfort him, but he has never listened. So he runs, and she follows, because she can't do otherwise. Silently and unobtrusively she follows, but unavoidably. She has never left him. She never will.