He waited, silent, by the fire. Watching and waiting. And waiting. He was not an impatient person in general, but for some reason this wait was grinding on him.
"What time is it?" he asked.
"Half past the hour, My Lord," Bella replied quietly.
He looked into the trees. The forest stared back at him, a black empty hole. There was no sign of movement. Yaxley and Dolohov had not yet returned.
"My Lord." One of the Death Eaters broke the silence. "Are you sure--?"
Bellatrix hushed him.
Voldemort did not acknowledge the Death Eater's question. The truth was, he wasn't sure. Could he really have miscalculated his enemy so badly?
Minutes passed. The Death Eaters grew restless. Behind him the giants sat silently and Nagini twisted in her sphere, hissing faintly.
The finally, finally--the rustle of footsteps and the murmur of voices reached his ears. The atmosphere in the clearing charged up, so the air seemed to be vibrating. Excitement filled him--at last, at last--only to turn to disappointment as Yaxley, then Dolohov stepped into the light cast by the fire. Just them. No boy.
"No sign of him, My Lord," said Dolohov.
Voldemort felt their eyes upon them, wondering. What were they to do next? For the first time in many years, he didn't know what to say. He had no plan. He had been counting so much on the boy surrendering. He drew the Elder Wand out, pondering what to do next, aware that ever so slightly, his hands were shaking.
"I thought he would come," he said. "I expected him to come."
And he didn't, curse him, where is he?
They stared at him. He could practically smell their fear. As if they expected to be punished, the fools. No, no...this was his mistake. He was the one who had miscalculated.
"I was, it seems...mistaken," he admitted.
And then--his heart almost stopped--a clear, strong voice spoke, echoing around the clearing:
"You weren't."
And from the darkness in the trees he stepped forward--Harry Potter.
His followers let up a cry--jeering, laughing, and (in the giants' case) roaring--but Voldemort froze. Harry met his eyes and he thought he had never met such a compelling gaze, not Snape's, not even Dumbledore's. The boy slowly approached, never breaking his gaze, until--
"HARRY!" someone yelled; Harry turned to where they had bound the half-giant oaf, Hagrid. Rowle silenced the half-giant with his wand.
Harry looked back at Voldemort, and the Dark Lord thought he caught a glimmer of sadness in the green eyes. Strange, he thought, that he should care about his friend when he's the one about to die.
Now there was a quiet. The Death Eaters stood like silent, watchful sentinels. Behind him the giants loomed and observed without a sound. Even Hagrid was still.
Voldemort looked at the boy. He was suddenly reminded of James Potter, who had died this same way, wandless, but brave nonetheless. Harry stood tall and straight. They said he looked like James, and he did. The boy gazed straight into his eyes and for once, Voldemort couldn't read his emotions. Was he scared? Sad? Relieved that the battle had finally come to an end?
Voldemort cocked his head. The green eyes bored into his. It was actually slightly unnerving. He considered torturing Harry before killing him. It would be satisfying to watch his enemy scream and writhe in pain. But he dismissed the thought. He was tired of waiting.
The anticipation in the air was building. Several Death Eaters shifted. Voldemort raised his wand and pointed it at Harry. At last, sweet victory. A smile curled his lips.
"Harry Potter," he said, more to himself than to the boy. "The Boy Who Lived."
Looking into Harry's eyes, he saw so regret, no grief, no fear, only desire and longing. The look lingered as he spoke the words.
"Avada Kedavra!" Green light flashed, and Harry was knocked sideways into the ground as he fell dead. At the same time, blackness descended upon Voldemort.
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