I decided I'd try to explore my question of 'Where did they put Voldemort's body?'

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Rain poured down, soaking the small town of Little Hangleton, sending the people scurrying to the brightly lit pubs. Old men shared a pint and reminisced on the old days, when the deceased Riddle family lived in the old Riddle Manor, the old gardener to which their deaths he prime suspect had hobbled around the flower beds (he had been missing for over three years now), the bright laser-esque light show that had been reported that same year…and the strange bespectacled man who had visited the Riddle Graveyard for the past three years in a row.

Harry J. Potter smiled bitterly as the cold England rain plastered his unruly hair to his head, soaking his robes and shoes. Before him, the name Thomas M. Riddle was carved in abrupt, angry writing, hewn into a rough, uncut block of stone that stood out among its more refined marble and limestone brethren. Harry traced the epitaph with his fingers, running his hands through the same rough handwriting that he himself had put there, mumbling the words out loud as he traced the with his fingers.

From the boy he used to be,

To the student we thought he was,

The monster he became.

Harry let himself remember. Remember the day after the Battle of Hogwarts where he had volunteered for the unsavory job of disposing of Voldemorts remains. He supposed everyone assumed he had dumped the body in a river somewhere, or perhaps incinerated it and thrown the ashes to the wind.

Harry didn't delude himself by thinking he was doing his enemy a favor by not utterly annihilating the body. In fact, being buried among his muggle relatives was perhaps the best revenge Harry could have gotten against a dead Voldemort. It was petty, he would admit, but it seemed justified in light of everything Voldemort had done to him.

It was still rather pathetic, Harry realized glumly, gloating to a dead man.

Harry had done all he could to disrespect Voldemort's remains, he had merely conjured the worst coffin he could think off, a shabby pine box a bit too small for Voldemort bony height so he had to be contorted to fit. Several insect attracting curses had been placed on the wood in a mild fit of spite, Harry had been feeling particularly angry and sullen when he had been digging the pit to drop Voldemort's corpse in.

It had been raining then, too. In fact, every time he visited Voldemort's grave, it poured. It struck him as ironic, that when Dumbledore and the KIA Order members, Hogwarts students, and Aurors funerals had been going on, the sun had been shining bright and clear, but when Voldemort's own private funeral, and the funerals of the dead Death Eaters recovered on the grounds of Hogwarts, it had rained.

Perhaps clouds are pure-blooded? Harry thought bitterly. Perhaps the sky didn't think that 'blood traitors' or 'mudbloods' deserve to have the sky cry for them?

Harry touched the headstone one last time before he turned on the spot and apparated with a crack, leaving behind his morbid thoughts on the heresy of rain.

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I always thought Harry was a bit...petty when it came to Voldemort, he would boast and insult where in other stuff, he wouldn't dream of doing it.

Signing off,

Timballisto