Chapter 11: Darkness
Voldemort opened his eyes, but all that met them was consuming darkness. It was freezing, a chill that bit to the bone. He shivered and curled himself into a ball. There was only one good thing about this; he did no longer feel guilty. He had paid his debt to Quirrel. Quirrel had gone to Azkaban because of him, but now he was in Azkaban himself. Now everything was all right. But he knew his life wouldn't last long here. If he was killed, he might come to life again, but this was so much worse. A dementor's kiss wouldn't kill him; it would suck out his soul. His body would still be there, his heart would still be beating, but he wouldn't be there. And that was the worst that could happen.
Someone drifted past his cell, and he felt something sting him, right in the heart. If were like if someone had pressed a needle right into it, and were turning it around and around in there. He gasped; the pain took his breath away. What was this? He heard himself scream in agony, but it felt like he drifted away slowly from himself. He looked down at himself, like from a distance, saw his arm raise up in the air, and utter a single word, before it fell down lifeless. Voldemort drifted further away.
At the same time, a long way away, in a big empty scary mansion, a young man dressed in an Azkaban prisoner suit and with brown hair suddenly jerked up. A silent scream left his lips, and then the scream got sound. A piercing and horrifying scream that woke the whole village. When the police forced their way into the house half an hour later, they found a man lying face down on the floor, dead. Beside him were a note, and a single word were written on it.