What Voldemort could feel was the cold of waiting all night for loved ones to return, the warmth of nestling beside his parents, the laughter and bickering between friends...
It was parents tirelessly reminding their children, lovers speaking intimate vows to each other, letters arriving from distant places...
They were things he had never possessed, things he had believed he did not desire at all.
One man's honey was another man's poison.
To him, the things he had once believed beneath his contempt—family, concern, belonging, anticipation...—were the most terrifying pain of all.
Voldemort's body stopped trembling. His head drooped, and the light in his eyes was gone forever.
Like a puppet with its strings cut, he swayed before toppling to the ground, leaving only a dull thud.
Just like those he had once killed.
Yet it was also somewhat different. What surrounded Voldemort now were sounds of weeping intertwined with cheers.
Looking at Voldemort's body on the ground, Barty Crouch Sr. and Barty Crouch Jr. sighed almost at the same time.
Barty Crouch Jr.'s gaze upon Voldemort's corpse was filled with too many feelings he could neither name nor explain.
The version of himself who had never come to his senses had not even imagined what Voldemort's death might truly look like.
After he had resolved to change and put that resolve into action, finally standing face-to-face with his father, Barty Crouch Sr., and deciding to fight Voldemort together, he had not had the time to consider how Voldemort might die.
His gaze fell upon Voldemort's eyes. Facing those dull, hollow eyes that had lost all their light, he let out a long sigh.
Hearing the sigh, Barty Crouch Sr. patted Barty Crouch Jr. on the shoulder. "Pull yourself together! We still have a lot to deal with!"
Barty