It's certainly been a long journey I've shared with you guys. :) Let's finally end this, shall we? Do tell me what you think of this, because I hope this has been as fun for you as it has been for me. See you around, sometime.

Dinner Ends with Dessert

Tom stood at the edge of the grassy bank, staring into the sparkling blue water. As a breeze teased through his hair – actual hair, thank Merlin, and no longer that serpentine baldness – his fingers tightened around the wand.

The sound of apparition behind him, a loud crack that startled birds into taking flight, told him that his invitation had been received and accepted. This party was long overdue. He owed the other man a drink. Tom spun around, a sharp smile on his lips, fingers itching to do what he waited years to do.

"These past weeks have treated you well, I see," said the old codger. Tom could see the twinkle in those eyes even from this distance, and he despised it. The calmness of the old man irritated him; so calm, always calm, whether the occasion was murder or waiting to be murdered. "You look almost thirty again, Tom. You did say you wanted to see me."

"I do, and I am glad you accepted my invitation," Tom said, moving his wand down his sleeve. It was deliciously cool against his skin. "For a moment I thought you would not come." His magic crackled like electricity in the air.

Dumbledore looked at him. "You were hunting me. Unfortunately, prey do not tend to escape when their predator happens to go by the name of Lord Voldemort. I wasn't given much of a choice."

"They do say old age tends to make stubborn men more stubborn. They become senile. I thought you would require … more encouragement." Tom ran a finger over his lip. "One of the Weasleys, for example. Perhaps the hot-tempered redhead girl. I never did like her much."

From the corner of his eye, Tom saw the old man tense. "Stay away from them Tom. They are good people; your quarrel is with me."

"Is that not what you said about Harry Potter too?"

Dumbledore blinked. "I do not know what you are talking about."

"Oh really? Have you forgotten already?" Tom stared into those blue eyes, still so serene. How he longed to reach across and rip out the man's throat, rip out his spine. Perhaps then the glow would finally fade, like how his faded. "You hunted down my Horcruxes, one by one – exterminated them, one by one. And then there was one left. So you killed your own golden boy. He was never much more than a pawn feeding out of your hand, was he?"

Tom watched grimly as Dumbledore rubbed at his temples. "That was regrettable. Harry was a good boy, but it was necessary –"

"Was it?"

"Pardon me?"

"I said –" Tom narrowed his eyes, took a step forward, crushing a patch of glass beneath his boot "– was it really necessary? Or is that what you tell yourself so you can sleep at night? How many have been sacrificed for your precious Greater Good?"

"This is a surprise," Dumbledore said lightly. "I never expected to see the day when Lord Voldemort himself tries to teach me a lesson in morals. Why are you hiding behind that face, Tom? We all know you never cared for skin beauty – or morality. Why on earth are you playing at, Tom?"

"I got back my soul."

Silence stretched across the plains.

"Your soul."

"Fascinating, isn't it? The power of remorse? Harry's death was in vain."

"I – why do you care?" The old codger wrung his handles together, fingers moving across his knuckles in frenzied movements. The only thing that betrayed his confusion. "You are Lord Voldemort. Have you not always wanted Harry dead? I did you a favour."

"You tend to care when the person whom you followed through time dies at the hand of an old professor." Tom arched an eyebrow. "It is funny, the way fate plays, isn't it? Oddly fitting that the one who began the entire cycle remains ignorant until the very end."

"Tom, I do not intend to die today and least of all by your hands."

Tom's wand was out in a split second, its power thrumming through his fingers. He had waited for this moment – consciously and subconsciously, for decades. And now that it came – well, this felt like chugging down a glass of crystal water on a boiling summer day. He lashed out at Dumbledore.

The spell that was sent spinning at him in return, cutting deeply into his shoulder, barely made him wince, let alone hesitate even for a second. It was exhilarating. Exhilarating to have his prey fight back in a struggle for life, just one more time, before Tom crushed the light out of its eyes forever.

Tom spun on the spot, lunged for the ground – spiralling away, slicing, smiling, snarling. He flung a curse – a thin red line flying from the tip of his wand – and it nearly tossed Dumbledore off his feet.

They stared at each other. Tom paced around Dumbledore, wand practically singing out, ready to take his sweet time. Dumbledore looked like an old dog standing his ground, ready for one last time, ready to survive. Yes, the old man had always been a survivor like him – he would not have poisoned Harry if he was not a survivor.

Dumbledore twirled his wand in one long, fluid movement. The water from the lake rose, dark and swirling, a hurricane made from water, twisting towards Tom and covering him like a tight cocoon.

Water flooded into his nose. His mouth. Dumbledore was certainly imaginative – Tom had not expected this. His wand flew out of his hand, carried away by the high-pressure water. He squeezed open his eyes, tried to breathe – choked on water. And he saw Dumbledore standing there, watching impassively, wand extended and seeming intent on finishing it.

That was rich.

Surely he did not expect to kill Lord Voldemort.

Tom burst out of the cocoon, landed on the grass a few metres away. His wand flipped into his hand and then they were duelling again. Quick movements, so quick that he was surprised Dumbledore could catch up. Quick flicks of their wands. Feet sliding across the grass.

But Dumbledore was an old man, and Tom was in his prime. He outmatched the professor in stamina, if not power. And their duel ended with him flinging Dumbledore bodily into the lake and dragging out his soaked body back out.

With his foot pressed against Dumbledore's windpipe, Tom looked down at him in satisfaction. "Any last words? No? Avada –"

"Kedavra."

What.

His eyes widened.

Dumbledore had a second wand hidden under his sleeve?

Perhaps he had been too eager.

Metallic sweetness exploded over his tongue as Tom subconsciously bit down on his lip. He had been so focused on bringing Dumbledore down that he never focused on the alternative. And without his Horcruxes, he was as good as … Alas, he faced the emerald green curse head on, unflinching as it hit him in the chest. He felt nothing.

-0O0-

He lay on his back, ears perked for sound. It was silence. Complete and utter silence. He cautiously opened his eyes. He lay in a bright mist, not unlike water vapour, and he could barely make out his body.

Tom sat up.

A great domed glass roof glittered above him in the sunlight, twinkling as brightly as stars did. And yet it certainly was not night. It wasn't day either. Curious. White columns sprung upwards from the ground, up, up and up. He could not tell if it ever ended.

Had he died?

He could still feel the coolness of the green light against the skin of his eyelids when he closed his eyes. The memory of it, seared into his mind, convinced him that this was real – even if it seemed like a dream.

First conclusion: he had died. A low chuckle rose from the back of his throat. Wasn't that a foreign thought. He had dedicated his whole life to avoiding death, going as far as to rip apart his own soul in a procedure admittedly a great deal more excruciating than dying itself – seven times. One more question remained: where he was.

One word came to his mind: heaven. Tom brushed it away. As if heaven would open its doors for him – not that he even believed a heaven existed. If he ended up anywhere, it would be the seventh level of hell. But he had never imagined hell would look like this.

This place actually looked slightly familiar.

A hoot startled him from behind. Surprisingly loud in this quiet place. A hoot, and a high whistle followed by clanking and screeching as something stopped. A train?

It hit him.

King's Cross.

Of course. How could he not see it?

Tom turned.

The train was right there, its doors open as if in welcome.

There was nothing else to do.

He boarded.

The compartments were empty, he saw, as he made his way quietly through the train. It was the first time he had boarded a train from King's Cross that wasn't full of chatter and full of sound. Still, a new experience was a refreshing experience.

A small laugh shattered the silence.

Tom twisted around – and there, sitting in the compartment at the very back of the train was Harry, dressed in a pristine Hogwarts uniform, grinning at him from behind the compartment door.

"What a surprise to see you here," Tom said dryly, once he made his way to Harry. "But now that I think about it, I seem to subconsciously follow you everywhere – so why should death be an exception?"

Harry's green eyes flickered. "Psh, you're one to talk. You look –" He eyed Tom up and down. "You look ... different. Thirty, eh?"

"Hmm," he hummed in agreement.

"Let's go meet my parents."

"Your parents?"

"Yep," Harry said. "I'd love to see you explain to them how you –"

Tom snapped his fingers, and Harry's jaws clicked shut. Muffled sounds came out of it. Tom blinked incredulously at his own hand, which glowed pleasantly. Well, it was heartening to know magic was still magic.