Voldemort was dead, just like that.
The mysterious figure who had loomed like a shadow over the wizarding world for decades.
He had been so casually smashed to death by the green giant that had suddenly appeared before them.
Dumbledore stood there blankly, and Harry Potter was blankly staring too. So were the countless teachers and students standing at the castle entrance; everyone's eyes were vacant.
For a moment, the scene was quiet.
So quiet that it felt as though they were waiting for a priest to step forward, erect an empty grave for Voldemort, declare that he was truly dead, and say, "Amen. Your sins shall be buried with you."
At that moment, the fierce evening wind howled across the lawn, tugging every wizard's robe into a fluttering cape.
They stood in the wind, wrapped in broad black funeral garments, forming a continuous swath in the dusk.
It looked exactly like a funeral about to begin.
How nice. Voldemort had just died, and Hogwarts was conveniently holding a funeral for him.
Except this funeral would contain nothing but irrepressible laughter, without a shred of grief.
"Voldemort... is dead?" Amid the quiet sound of the wind, a young wizard asked hesitantly.
His voice trembled, filled with both excitement and fear that he was celebrating too soon.
"D-dead, probably. That big guy smashed him into ashes." The Weasley brothers had their arms around each other's shoulders.
"But didn't the prophecy say that Harry was the one who could defeat Voldemort?" Ron asked in confusion.
"Maybe... since he was standing there, that counted as joining the battle, and that counted as defeating Voldemort?"
The young wizards were all doubtful, not daring to declare that Voldemort had been utterly destroyed.
They had heard of the mysterious man's terrifying reputation since childhood. No one