Got a tiny bit darker tale for ya, not exactly a prompt, not yet a one-shot.
This scene could theoretically work with the Vindictive Veela, but could stand on its own. Voldemort was defeated, brought down by the pair of a wizard and his Veela, or was it a Veela and her wizard? Yet he did not have the time to ponder this as he awoke again after succumbing to darkness, facing Harry Potter and Fleur Delacour.
Now he found himself, wandless, bound and paralyzed, lying in a hole in the floor. Could he see the outside, he would see the hole encircled by runes and candles. From above him he could see Potter’s calm face peering at him with icy contempt, while Delacour smirked victoriously, her face all sharp edges and vicious angles.
‘Too cowardly to kill me, Potter?’ Voldemort thought. Then Potter spoke:
“You always desired immortality, Tom.”
Voldemort bristled at this disrespect, yet could do nothing. Then, the pain came, as, her throat emitting an inhuman song, Delacour brandished her wand and started a circular motion with the tip. With mounting dread, Voldemort watched his body start to dissolve, first his skin, his blood boiled, his muscles sloughed off.
Yet still he could see.
“Rejoice Tom, for what you yearned, you shall receive.” Potter intoned with barely constrained glee. The pain was relentless as Voldemort watched his body change into reddish sludge, his bones peaking through.
‘Why can I still see? And feel’ Even when no longer bound, he could speak no more, only think. And feel. Delacour performed a sharp slash with her wand, still continuing with the infernal song. His bones started dissolving too, becoming a fine powder. ‘NO! STOP!’ Yet nobody heeded his mental call.
In unceasing agony, Voldemort watched as the matter that used to be his body was scooped up, taken outside to what could have only been the foundations of a new house. They placed his remains around the edges, now with Potter too drawing his wand and starting a complicated series of spells.
“Rejoice Tom, for from now on, your life shall have a purpose.” Potter intoned.
If Voldemort thought he knew pain, the next instant proved him wrong. A feeling as if his very soul was being stripped of him, his magic bound by searing chains, overwhelmed his thoughts.
“The family you would have seen dead you now shall protect, our house guard, ward off evil from our children, Tom Marvollo Riddle.”
‘There are worse things than Death,’ Voldemort thought. ‘Dumbledore was right.’