Chapter Text
An old man sits in an armchair. He has white hair, a lightning scar faded for centuries, and looks out the window. Behind him stands a woman in a black dress and deathly pale skin. She puts a hand on his shoulder and says to him, "It seems that this is the end, we have lost." He puts his whiskey on a small table next to him, looks her in the eye and replies, "It seems you are right Mortem. I have indeed lost." He holds out a hand to her. Without saying anything, she understands his wish and leaves the room. The old man again takes his wiskey, fills the glass, raises it to his lips and empties it. From the courtyard he looks out of the large, slightly broken one, he hears screams and explosions. He feels the protective spells pulling at him and partially falling. Shortly after, as he sips again from his full glass, the castle shakes and the wiskey spills over. As he cleans himself of the wiskey, he hears from the first floor Freude's screams and cheers at the successful opening of the gate. Mortem re-enters the room and hands a heavy weight to the still seated man. He pushes back the butt, holds the barrel to his head and, grinning sadly, says to the woman, "We'll meet again, won't we?" She replies, "yes, my dearest. But hurry, the aurors are almost here." He pulls the trigger and a bang sounds. A short time later they find only the body of Harry James Potter.