What Voldemort could feel was the chill of waiting through the night for family and friends to return, the warmth of nestling beside his parents, the laughter and bickering among friends...
It was parents tirelessly reminding their children of things, lovers sharing intimate vows, letters arriving from afar...
They were things he had never possessed and had believed he did not desire at all.
One man's honey was another man's poison.
To him, the things he had once thought beneath his contempt—family bonds, concern, belonging, anticipation...—were the most terrifying pain.
Voldemort's body stopped trembling. His head drooped, and the light in his eyes had been extinguished forever.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, he swayed as he toppled to the ground, leaving only a dull thud.
Just like those he had once killed.
Yet somewhat differently, the sounds surrounding Voldemort now were a mingling of people's tears and cheers.
Looking at Voldemort's corpse on the ground, Old Barty Crouch and Barty Crouch Jr. sighed almost at the same time.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s gaze upon Voldemort's body was filled with too many emotions that could neither be spoken nor understood.
Back when he had not come to his senses, he had never even imagined what Voldemort's death would look like if Voldemort truly died.
After he had resolved to change and put that resolve into action, eventually coming face-to-face with his father, Old Barty Crouch, and deciding to fight Voldemort together, he had not had the time to think about how Voldemort would die either.
His gaze fell on Voldemort's eyes. Facing those dull, vacant eyes that had lost all their brilliance, he let out a long sigh.
Hearing the sigh, Old Barty Crouch patted Barty Crouch Jr. on the shoulder. "Pull yourself together! We still have a lot