SUMMARY: This takes place after Deathly Hallows, when Voldemort enters the land of the dead for the second time. Voldemort meets... someone... and they talk about things.

Disclaimer: I own nothing. All of the quotes I use from the books and the characters and everything, they're all J. K. Rowling's.

"But you're too late," said Harry. "You've missed your chance. I got there first. I overpowered Draco weeks ago. I took this wand from him."

"So it all comes down to this, doesn't it?" whispered Harry. "Does the wand in your hand know its last master was disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand."

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Expelliarmus!"

I expected nothing more than a disarming charm, but instead two jets of light, red and green, spiralled toward me, and before I could even react I felt the impact as they hit me in the chest, knocking me to the ground. I felt no pain, only defeat and anger, anger toward myself for being so very foolish.

My life did not flash before my eyes, but everything I had left rushed before my in a blurry mass. I saw people all around me, people from the Order and my own people, reacting in every way imaginable, eyes widening in fear, delight or shock. I saw everything, and then... nothingness.

The light returned in a moment, but it was unlike any other thing I'd seen in my time. Death is an odd thing, I suppose. I shuddered at the word. Death! As if I needed that! I never so much as drempt of death, and in one day- the day that I was so certain would be my day of final victory- it was swept upon me before I could even have a second thought.

Alone. Now I was alone.

And there was nothing I could do to change anything.

"Tom," called a calm voice, more terribly collected than any other voice I'd heard. I recognised that voice immediately. Perhaps I was in hell.

Before me stood an elderly man, much taller than I, his auburn hair sparking in whatever the light was. The face was much younger, much less weathered than I'd last seen it, but one detail was exactly the same, as they'd always been.

Albus Dumbledore's eyes were as blue as a summer sky, and they twinkled like crystals in the sunlight. Humor glistened deep within them, but there was ancient wisdom, wisdom no other person could even hope to attain. He'd always been a barrier for me, keeping me from being everything I wanted to be. Yet I addressed him cordially, as I had when we'd first met. "Dumbledore."

"Tom. I see you've decided to join me."

"This wasn't my choice."

"Yes it was, Tom. Every part of this was your choice. You choose your destiny." There it was, the preaching ways that made me loathe him so.

"My destiny was taken from me, Dumbledore, taken by some mudblood!"

I hadn't dared to admit that before, that my father had been filth. That would have made me filth, and I was anything but filth.

"Our choices are our own, Tom, as I've told you since we first met. But that is neither here nor there. I came to tell you that there is someone who wants to know why you did this."

"Oh? And who might that be?"

He smiled the warm smile that I knew so well, the smile that I had wanted to rip off of his face every time I'd seen it. "Turn around."

What I saw shocked me more than anything else. I had never been able to rest my eyes upon the fragile being, but I could tell by her attitude, her eyes, exactly who I was gaping at.

"MEROPE GAUNT?!"